GI Joe: Sacrifice Part III
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Charlie, Cam, Shana, and Terence begin life as civilians. Meanwhile, catastrophic events force Clayton to make a decision that could change the Joes' future forever.
1. Chapter 60: Moves

**Chapter 60: Moves**

"Ready for this?" Clayton asked Olivia as they stood on the sidewalk outside their new home.

Despite Liv's assertions that the only things she needed to pack was Auggie's and her clothes and his crib, even she'd admitted when they started packing that she had more stuff than she knew what to do with and it was going to be a little less simple than she'd originally thought it would be. And when they started packing Auggie's stuff, they found the little guy had more than Olivia had been aware of. So Cam and Shana had helped her fold and pack clothes (and in so doing, a lot of Liv's old clothes had found their way into Cam's possession, and her old maternity clothing had unerringly found their way to Shana's; as civilians now, they needed regular clothes. Although no one said anything, the look Clayton had given Liv plainly said he thought she'd engineered it that way, but she just gave him a bright smile and refused to comment.

They'd ended up renting a moving van for Liv's stuff, and Ettienne and Alex were driving it out to Staten Island from Manhattan; Shana, Cam, Allie and Courtney were following in the base's Hummer along with a few items deemed too fragile to fit in the moving van.

Clayton and Liv had taken Liv's Mustang, gotten to the house before everyone else, and were now standing on the front sidewalk looking at the new house. Already, to Clayton, it felt like home; there was just a warm, welcoming feel.

Then an arm slipped around his waist, and he smiled. No, the house wasn't as welcoming as the woman standing next to him and the baby crawling on his hands and knees in the thick green grass of the lawn, giggling as a late-season white butterfly started up out of the grass in front of him. It was the perfect day for moving; not too hot and not too cold for a mid-September day in New York. Happiness put a smile on his face as he and Liv strolled up the walk and he slipped the key into the front door of the house that was now theirs.

It didn't matter that the furniture was old and slightly shabby, or that it had belonged to someone else, or that it was worn. He flopped down in the couch, found a nice comfortable dip just the right size to fit his ass into, then grinned and held out a hand. "Have a seat, Liv."

"I have to get—" she was fussing with the carpet in the front hall, rolling it aside presumably so that when Ettienne and Alex got there with the moving van, they'd be able to start carrying items right in.

He lunged off the couch in one smooth move, tackled her amidships and scooped her up as she screamed with laughter, a sound he didn't hear often enough and never got tired of, then carried her back to the couch and sat down, arranging her across his lap. "Whatever it is, it'll wait a couple of minutes. Just sit for a moment with me and enjoy the peace and quiet."

And at just that moment Auggie decided to try pulling up on the coffee table, spread with a delicate crocheted-lace doily, and the ceramic vase of artificial flowers sitting on the coffee table went crashing over. Olivia lunged to rescue the vase before it hit the floor, and Auggie screwed up his face as if wondering whether he wanted to cry.

"You were saying something about peace and quiet?" Olivia's lips quirked in a grin that should have been sardonic but had too much happiness in it to really be called that. He opened his mouth to respond to it and was interrupted yet again, this time by the sound of a vehicle door slamming and voices outside on the driveway. Moment later, here came Alex with a small box in her arms, and Ettienne with a larger one, and both were smiling. "So where do you want this?" Alex asked her.

"Are those my dishes?" Olivia peeked into the box. "Yes. Good. Okay, dishes in the kitchen." Alex disappeared around the corner to the kitchen as Olivia peeked into the box Ettienne held. "Those are Auggie's things. Here, let me show you which bedroom's his…"

By the time the Hummer pulled up, Clayton had already carried a couple of boxes in and one bag of baby clothes; Cam joined him immediately and grabbed another box.

With so many hands helping (and Shana watching Auggie for Liv) they got done the process of clearing out the moving truck in record time. Then it was Ettienne who drove the truck and Courtney who drove the Hummer back to the truck rental place (when Ettienne signed the truck back over he'd ride back to the house with Court) while Clayton, Liv, Shana, Allie, Cam and Alex got the boxes unpacked and things put away, because the boxes were going to have to be reused to pack Shana, Snake Eyes, Cam, and Charlie's things for transport to Liv's old apartment.

Clayton was still shaking his head over how it had all worked out. Alex had dropped the last of the charges, freeing Cam from having to testify in court at the same time that the discharge papers had come through, the house had closed, and there was four months left on the apartment's lease. Shana's due date was a month previous to that, so the babies would be a month old by the time the lease ran out and they could decide if they wanted to stay a couple more months, or head on out to their California cabin, or (as had been hinted at) go and visit Cam and Charlie's new place in Western New York for a few months. It was also going to mean they'd be here in New York long enough to celebrate Auggie's first birthday, something that Cam had promised she would attend.

There was a lot of chatter as the women unpacked Liv and Auggie's things, folding baby clothes and putting them away in drawers; Clayton and Ettienne were busy rearranging furniture, taking out the bed in the second bedroom, disassembling it and tucking it away in the attic, then assembling Auggie's crib and getting it set up. With that now done, both men headed downstairs, where Clayton proceeded to explain his idea of an entertainment room to Ettienne, then both men headed back up to the attic to find furniture for said entertainment room.

By the time the Girls got Liv and Auggie unpacked and settled, then went in search of Clayton and Ettienne, the two men were relaxing on a battered, worn leather couch that had definitely seen better days that they had found in the attic. The large-screen TV that had been in the smaller office in the back of the house, off the kitchen, had been taken down, the entertainment center disassembled and taken downstairs to the basement and then reassembled, then Ettienne and Clayton had spent a half hour wiring up the DVD player and stereo system, dragging in the small unused refrigerator from the garage and plugging that in also. As it cycled and started to cool, they sat on the couch and started to reprogram the TV. Charlie and Snake Eyes—no, Terence, Clayton was going to have to get used to calling him by a regular name now—had arrived in Charlie's Jeep with a couple of six packs, and by the time Liv, Alex, Shana, Cam, Allie and Courtney came to find them, the four men were cheering the football team playing on TV.

Shana giggled as she poked Olivia. "I will guess that this is going to become a regular sight here at the house on Sundays," she teased. "Whenever Clayton can get off, he'll be coming here along with whoever else might happen to be off and watching football with them."

"I don't mind," Olivia grinned. "You guys are as much Clayton's family as Auggie and I are, so I don't mind hosting. He works too hard, needs to relax more often." She grinned. "Besides, if I time this right, maybe I can get them to cooperate in building that little sunroom off the back that Clayton suggested."

Cam laughed aloud. "Make them work in return for your hosting their football Sundays. I like the way your mind works!" She'd been relaxed and happy the whole day, bubbly and effervescent and cheerful, and they'd all been gratified at the lift in her spirits.

But, although they were slightly unwilling to interrupt the guys' good time, there was still Shana and Terence, Cam and Charlie to move, so they left Liv at the new house, with Clayton taking her Mustang with Allie, Charlie back in his Jeep with Cam, Ettienne in the Hummer with Alex, Courtney, Terence and Shana, and they all went back to base. There was considerably less stuff to move this time, even with four people's belongings—they were military, and military packed light and traveled light, and Liv had, after all, left a lot of her clothes in the apartment for Shana. So it was an abbreviated group that left Fort Wadsworth three hours later: Clayton, driving the Hummer with Terence, Shana, and most of the bags and boxes (since the seats folded down) and Charlie and Cam with a couple of bags packed into Charlie's Jeep. There was significantly more of Shana and Terence's stuff than there was of Cam and Charlie's.

But it still didn't take all that long to unpack; and when they were all done, Cam and Charlie's rucksacks and footlockers in one room, Shana and Terence's belongings in the other, there was still a few hours left before Clayton had to go back to base. "Let's go to Knickerbocker's," he suggested on an impulse. "We've all been moving stuff all day, packing and unpacking, and I'm pretty sure none of you really wants to cook. I'm not in the mood for base food either, so how about one more dinner at our favorite hangout, for old times' sake?"

"Only if you're buying," Shana said impishly, but her smile was warm and understanding. They'd all been fellow soldiers and friends for so long that knowing they were parting ways now was bittersweet, and they wanted to prolong the moment as long as possible.

Their booth at Knickerbocker's was open (of course) but the waitress who showed them to their table did a double-take when she saw four of them in civilian clothes. It wasn't until she'd brought their menus and retreated that Shana had a chance to explain to the mystified Cam. "We rarely ever come here in civvies," she said, taking a sip of her sparkling water and wishing, for just a moment, that she weren't pregnant so she could have a beer like Clayton, Charlie and Terence were. "Snake Eyes—Terence—damnit, I'm going to have to get used to that—tends to wear the uniform when we come here, so it's obvious where he got the scars and people won't ask. The waitress isn't used to seeing us come in not in uniform—and she definitely wasn't expecting me to be out to here with two kids."

They each ordered one of Knickerbocker's famous burgers; Cam, they all noticed, ate as if she were making up for lost time. They got the all-you-can-eat salad, and watched as she put away two plates. Halfway through the third plate she realized they were all looking, and her cheeks turned a dusky copper. "Sorry," she said, but she sounded happy, and not really sorry at all. "I don't know, I'm just suddenly really hungry."

It was Shana who broke the silence and said what they were all thinking. "Don't be sorry. Eat as much as you want. You lost all the weight you gained on our honeymoon stressing out over the trials that you should be eating like a horse now to make up for it." And then, with a wicked grin, "Clayton can afford it."

He rolled his eyes, at which Shana and Cam both giggled.

Over dessert Clayton finally got serious and asked them what their plans were. "Well, Terence and I are going to stay in New York till the babies are born," Shana said as she finished off the last of a truly impressive slice of triple chocolate cake. "Cam and Charlie are going to stay too—Cam says she wants to be able to help with the babies when they get here, and they should be about a month old when Auggie turns one." She shook her head. "Jeez, it feels like Liv was comatose in the infirmary just yesterday, and I was…not talking. Has it really been a year?'" She blew out her breath. "Anyway, Cam promised Liv that she and Charlie'd both be at Auggie's first birthday, so they're staying till then. I'm going to keep my prenatal appointments, accumulate lots of stuff for the babies, and generally enjoy being a civilian. I've got over two million dollars in my bank account, and two new babies to shop for—I'll enjoy myself."

Terence grinned broadly and gestured to Shana. _What she said_.

"I'm going to finish up with the scar reduction treatments," Cam said quietly. "Dr. Flowers asked me if I perform any kind of regular physical activity, and I told her I danced—she said I should continue dancing so that the skin stretches gradually and develops the flexibility it's supposed to get. So I was thinking…once the treatments are over, I'll enroll in an adult ballet class so I can get back into shape." And, even more quietly, "The executor was only too glad to do all the paperwork that would release the money my Dad set aside for my ballet career. He talked to Mama Annie and Uncle Art over the phone and faxed over the papers, then they signed it and faxed it back, and that was it. Twenty thousand dollars. I want to use that to pay for my dance lessons—a sort of tribute to him. It…seemed fitting." And then she brightened, and a merrily wicked smile curved her lips. "I may also take a class in Irish dancing—Shana's Dad taught me a little but I'd like to learn more. Maybe when I go to visit again I can surprise him."

"Dad would LOVE that," Shana declared happily. "Dad's a phenomenal Irish dancer. He's always tried to teach Mom, Siobhan and me to dance, but we never did—Mom and Siobhan weren't interested in anything that didn't advance them in society, and me—I told him that I was hopeless at it, but really, I just didn't really want to learn. I think he was always a little disappointed but he never made an issue of it. He'd be tickled pink that an adopted daughter would finally be the dance partner he wanted."

"Then that's what I'm going to do. And in the meantime…" she blushed. "I have all this money and I haven't spent any of it—too busy stressing over the trials to really care, I guess. So yeah, I'm going to have a little fun with the money. There's so much I've always wanted to do but never had the money or the time to try—I've never tried Thai food, never had real Italian food, and I've never gone swimming just for the fun of it. I used to have ice skates at Osan, and I loved skating—it's been so long, and I miss it. I've never gone to a real movie theater to watch a movie, never been to a rock concert, never been to the beach to play in the sand, never been to a football or baseball game. I remember watching football games with Dad on base, and we'd argue over which team was the best and bet each other who would lose or win, and he always told me one day he would take me to a football game so I could see for myself what it was really like. He's not around anymore, but maybe wherever he is he'll know I finally got to see a game."

Silence around the table as each of her listeners thought about their own lives, their own experiences. Things they'd taken for granted, like being able to try new foods from different cultures; sitting in a darkened movie theater waiting for a movie to start with a tub of hot salted popcorn; cheering for their favorite team at a ball game. Shana remembered Snake Eyes teaching her how to skate one winter in New York's Rockefeller Center, in the big outdoor rink on New Year's Day; it had been cold but incredibly fun, and then of course the warming her up later had been a different kind of fun…

"You'll get to do all of that," Shana said finally, her voice determined. "All the stuff you've been missing you'll get to try. I know Charlie would love to take you to a ball game, and since we'll be here through the winter, you'll get a chance to go skating and do all those things you wanted to do."


	2. Chapter 61: Shana & Terence

**Chapter 61: Shana & Terence**

"I can't believe how well that worked!" Shana exclaimed as she ran a tentative finger over Cam's back. "I mean, you can still see the new skin isn't the same color as the old skin, but it feels the same. Did the doctor say the color will even out?" She dropped her hand.

Cam nodded as she bent to rummage around in the dresser drawer for a soft t-shirt, and Shana watched critically as the newly-regrown skin on Cam's back, clearly visible since she was only half-dressed and was wearing nothing but a support bra above the waist, moved and stretched with the movement of her arms as she bent and stood back up. "She recommended I take a nice long vacation on a warm sunny beach somewhere, wear as little as possible, and get tanned all over. Once the tan faded the new skin would retain some of the tan and eventually will fade and weather to being pretty close to the same color as the original skin. It's never going to look like nothing happened, but it won't look as bad as the photos Alex showed of my back during the trials."

Shana grimaced. "Those were pretty bad."

"It looked worse than it actually was, but yeah, it did look kinda bad." Cam grinned crookedly.

Shana shook her head. "Don't tell me that. It absolutely was as bad as it looked. I saw the pictures Doc took right after we all got home from Kennedy's island and he put you in a medically-induced coma, so you can't lie to me like that." She sighed. "But how's the thermoregulation coming? Are you able to maintain normal body temperature a bit better?" After the unusually warm previous winter and the record-breaking temperatures of the summer, it was now unseasonably cold, with below-average temperatures, and she herself had been grateful for some of the thick maternity sweaters that Liv had given her. She and Cam had spent most of the last week since they'd moved into Liv's old apartment just sitting around, chatting, Cam hemming pants and taking up Liv's skirts (Shana and Olivia were about the same height so Shana had been able to slip straight into the clothing, but Cam had had to spend evenings snipping excess fabric to accommodate her height. It had made for a cozy domestic scene, Cam sitting and sewing while Charlie played flute and Shana and Terence read or dozed or listened to Charlie's playing, and when Cam got tired of sewing she would put it all aside, take out her flute, and play with Charlie, a counterpoint to his melody, both harmonizing together while Shana and Terence listened.

Or they would take out a board game and play—Cam had little to no experience with board games and group games, so it was with a lot of pleasure that they took turns explaining how to play Monopoly. Cam caught on quickly—so quickly that Charlie good-naturedly accused her of cheating one night when they'd played three games in a row and she had beaten all of them all three times.

Their second day Shana had bought a video game system and set that up on the TV in the living room, and the following day Charlie brought home a couple of games. He and Terence spent half their afternoon sitting on the couch next to each other, either cooperating to take down a computer-simulated 'bad guy' or trying to blow each other to smithereens, and the girls had just as much fun watching their guys play and pointing out the next bad guy as they popped out from behind computer-simulated scenery.

Liv had given Shana the phone number to the obstetrician she'd used while pregnant with Auggie, and Shana had gone and enrolled herself as a patient. The babies were healthy, growing well, active and lively, and Shana was now really uncomfortable though only in her sixth month. She spent a great deal of her time either in bed or on the couch since her feet and ankles swelled if she stood too long, and she was grouchy and complaining.

Terence ignored the grouching and complaining, smiled when she hogged the bed or asked him to get her ice cream (she'd suddenly developed a craving for peanut butter ice cream and bananas) and came back from every prenatal visit with grainy black and white sonogram photos, which he showed off to Cam and Charlie before carefully pasting each one into two separate photo albums, one pink with the name 'Erin' on it, and one blue with the name 'Evan'. Both albums were already generously peppered with photos of Shana hugely pregnant, sometimes smiling, sometimes grouchy. He had a knack for snapping a picture just when Shana was making a weird face or having an awkward moment, and nothing she could say or do would induce him to not put those pictures in the albums, no matter how embarrassing. And while Shana complained about it, and swore up and down that she would raid those albums when Terence was out of the apartment, take out every single embarrassing photo and shred it, both Charlie and Cam noticed that she never did.

Charlie was plainly enjoying spending time with Cam. He drove her to the scar clinic and back, picked up her prescriptions, took her grocery shopping, and on evenings when she was too tired to sit at the table and eat, he brought her takeout from restaurants all over the city, from every culture; Thai cuisine, Indian, Nepalese, Afghani, Italian, Scottish, Irish, Mexican. He bought her chocolates from a Swiss chocolatier and almost every day saw him bringing her little gifts; little jewelry trinkets, new earrings for her newly-pierced ears, a new book. They spent one whole afternoon packing up the contents of Singletary's library into a storage pod, then paid to have it shipped to the house that Charlie's parents had built—Cam and Charlie's new house—and Jimmy and Myra Ironknife assured their son that they would unpack the contents carefully.

He bought her a CD player and started introducing her to new kinds of music; she was familiar with classical, being a ballerina; familiar with rock through her swordwork with Shana, and now expanding her library of Irish folk music suitable for jigs and reels, practicing the steps Shana's father had showed her during their honeymoon. Charlie bought her country music, heavy metal, technopop, electronica. Some of it she liked, some of it she didn't, and many dinners ended with a spirited discussion between all four of them over the merits of various types of music.

The sessions at the scar treatment finally ended, much to everyone's relief; although they couldn't argue with the results (Cam had full mobility back in all her limbs, and she was having less problems with staying warm or getting cold due to the easier thermoregulation) just getting her to this stage had been painful and they were all glad it was over. Cam spent a week just lying in bed and resting; the doctor had opted not to do the scar reduction on certain parts of her anatomy (at Cam's request) and so some of the edges where new skin met old scar tissue had been sealed with surgical glue and dissolving stitches; they'd be in there long enough to ensure a complete healing, a seamless integration of new skin and old scar tissue but not require her to go through the painful process of having to have stitches removed—the stitches would dissolve as she showered and went about her business.

Terence pretty much stayed in the apartment; he didn't go out much, self-conscious of his facial scars, but he did find a local dojo whose owners would let him use the place for exercise and training in between students. He and Shana went there for an hour a day; their katas were a great way for Shana to stay in shape during these last couple months of her pregnancy. She was very, very uncomfortable now and disinclined to do much of anything, but he insisted that she do some gentle stretching and muscle toning exercises to feet and legs to keep circulation going, and in fact the obstetrician nodded approvingly when she told the doctor about it. "Absolutely. With twins, you have a lot more weight on your pelvic floor and that might pinch off some of your blood vessels if you don't keep the blood moving. Also, with these exercises, you aren't getting the swollen feet and ankles I usually see in mothers with twins."

Since Shana definitely didn't want to get swollen feet and ankles, she stopped grouching about Terence dragging her to the dojo and instead determined to enjoy it. And after she got done with the katas and Terence was stretched out and loose, she did have fun sitting at the edge of the mat watching him move (and sometimes coaxed him into taking his shirt off so she could enjoy the play of muscle under smooth skin.) She also got a chance to meet the dojo owner, who plainly liked them both, and one evening the man asked Terence to stay and demo a fight for an advanced class.

The instructor was good. Terence was better. But the man was good enough to really give Terence a workout, which Shana had used to give him but now couldn't because of the babies, and Cam couldn't spar with him while her newly-regrown skin was still healing. They circled each other, engaged, disengaged, then closed again in an unarmed hand-to-hand skirmish; the students, who Shana guessed were somewhere about twelve or thirteen, watched with wide eyes and open mouths; a few were mesmerized, watching every move, every placement of a hand or foot. These, she guessed, were the students who were serious about what they were learning, wanted to learn, and wanted to get better.

There was one boy, one of the older students, who didn't seem like he was really in it to learn. He sat back on his hands, watching the demo with slight interest but not much; he was dividing his attention between a younger boy, one of the smallest in the class, and the demo. The younger boy was one of the ones who was intent on the demo, and once or twice Shana even saw his hand twitch as he subconsciously tried to imitate a move from either his instructor or Terence. But the older boy was watching too, and the look in his eyes wasn't nice; Shana deduced from that that there was some bad blood between the two boys, and she would bet her pension it wasn't on the smaller boy's end.

Terence and the instructor broke off their match, both breathing hard, skin sheened with sweat, and Shana grinned as she thought about how much she was going to enjoy getting into the shower with him when they got home. Her attention was grabbed, however, as the smaller boy got up, bowed to Terence before he asked a question about an over-the-shoulder duck and throw that Terence had used on the instructor earlier. Terence responded by demonstrating, twice; first on the instructor, then on the boy, then he gave the smaller boy an opportunity to try it. The boy was a quick learner, and he got it right the first time, ducking back, shifting his weight onto the back foot and throwing Terence's weight over his shoulder. He looked pleased with himself as he finished the move, and Terence gave him a warm smile of approval.

Shana swatted him playfully as he hit the locker room to get dressed (he'd shower when they got home.) "You enjoyed every minute of that."

_Yes I did. And you know, Shana, if the bouncer doesn't work out, I could see opening our own school, too; I think I'd like teaching kids._ Then he frowned. _As long as they aren't like that arrogant little ass that was watching the boy I showed the throw to._

"You saw that? I kinda got the feeling he was a bully, although I wouldn't go so far as to call him an ass. He's still a kid. Arrogant, stupid kid, but kid nonetheless."

_He was an ass,_ Terence said obstinately, and Shana walked out of the dojo snickering at him.

The snickering faded when they got to the car, and Terence paused to fish the car keys out of his pocket. Shana turned at the sound of raised voices, and she and Terence both saw the younger boy Terence had been demonstrating with earlier confronted by two older, larger boys, one of which was the bigger boy that Shana had pegged as a bully. They were standing in a loose half-circle in front of the smaller boy, reaching out to shove him.

The smaller boy made a sudden break for it, clutching his backpack strap and putting his head down to try and rush past the two bullies. The one that Terence had labeled 'an ass' stick his foot out, tripping the little boy, then caught the back of the kid's jacket to keep him from falling as he brought his knee up into the smaller boy's face.

Blood gushed, and Shana decided she'd had just about enough. Ignoring the door Terence was holding open for her, she marched down the alley toward the little knot of kids, putting on her best drill-sergeant voice and demeanor. "Atten-TION!" she barked out.

The boys all looked up, and she felt anger rise at the sight of the little boy's bloody nose. "Shouldn't you all be heading on home right now?"

The big boy looked her up and down, challengingly, and then sneered, and oh, but Shana wanted to wipe that sneer off his face. He'd taken one look at her, up and down, and dismissed her as inconsequential, and she unconsciously planted her feet and braced herself for a confrontation. Surely this boy wasn't going to be that stupid…

Yes he was.

He stepped up to her, toe to toe, and looked her in the eye—he was of a height with her, after all. "Shouldn't you be minding your own business?"

"Shouldn't you be picking on someone your own size?" she wasn't going to mince words with this ass. He knew she'd seen what he did, and he didn't care. That spoke of arrogance—in fact, he had a little bit of Kennedy's attitude, the 'I can do whatever I want' impression. _Let's_ _see if I can cut you down to size, hmm?_ She thought.

"What, like you?' He sneered again as he stepped further into her personal space, expecting her to back down. "I take that back. You're nowhere near my size. Not with the brat in the oven."

"Watch it, boy, I've thumped bigger men than you." She reached into her shirt and pulled out her dog tags, letting them dangle in front of his eyes; a last warning to him, to back off while he still could. And Terence was right—he was an ass, and Shana had stopped seeing him as a boy—he reminded her too much of Walker with his attitude.

And then the boy spit on the sidewalk in front of her.

She executed the same duck and throw that Terence had taught the younger boy earlier; grabbing an outstretched arm, ducking under it, and throwing him smoothly over her shoulder. Her back twinged a little, but it wasn't an injury, just a protest at being forced to bend in the direction of the weight in the front of her belly. But then she shifted subtly toward the forward foot, and kicked out with the back foot, so that instead of the boy rolling over her shoulder and landing in a crouch on his feet, she kicked his feet out from under him and planted him flat on his back. "Are you done now?" she demanded.

He stared up at her from where he lay flat on his back, stunned, and she glared at him, green eyes snapping sparks, until he finally nodded mutely and dropped his eyes. She let go of his arm then, let him get up and dust himself off, and then said quietly, "Remember to watch who you pick on, from now on. You have no idea how dangerous a person really is, and someday that can get you killed." He nodded, a quick jerk of the head, and then took off down the alley—not exactly running, but he definitely wasn't walking! And Shana turned to the smaller boy. "Are you okay?" Terence was already beside him, having grabbed a paper towel from the roll under the front seat and offered the boy a couple to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. "It's not broken, is it?"

Terence shook his head. _Not broken. He'll be fine._

"I take it the two of you have a long history," Shana said, and wasn't surprised when the smaller boy nodded. "Well, I'm not a big fan of kids fighting, but if someone attacks you first, you have a right to defend yourself, but always, always use the absolute minimum amount of force necessary to accomplish your objective. Remember that." The boy nodded, and she sighed. "All right, get on home." And he was gone.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat once she and Terence were back in his car; she didn't need to see his hands to know what he was saying. "I know we're not supposed to be advocating for fighting and violence, Terence, but sometimes that's the only thing a bully understands. He reminded me a lot of Walker—and you and I both know he never 'got it'." She opened one eye. "And where were you when all of this was going on? Weren't you supposed to be helping your pregnant wife?"

Terence smiled as his hands flashed. _I wanted to see how you'd deal with that snotty little brat. You did really well. You're going to be a great Mom._

Shana had to laugh.


	3. Chapter 62: Dance

**Chapter 62: Dance**

Cam paused outside the glass-fronted door, took a deep breath, then opened it and walked inside.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. It had been a long time since she'd last smelled that peculiar mix of rosin, sweat, the dust that settled on the hardwood floors and then was disturbed again by countless feet pounding on the floor of the dance studio. It was a ubiquitous smell that she hadn't run across in years, but still remembered from dance schools first at Osan, then here in New York before her Aunt and Uncle had imprisoned her.

She'd spent a week recuperating after the last session of the scar reduction treatment, then had started taking walks in the general area of the apartment building to build up her strength and stamina. Four days ago she'd stopped (on impulse) at a small place that said it taught dance and inquired if they offered adult ballet classes or Irish step classes. She'd been delighted to find they had both, and had signed up right then and there, then headed immediately out to the nearest dance store and bought a turtlenecked leotard, a small short skirt for the Irish step class, tights, and shoes for both ballet and Irish. It was heartbreakingly familiar, picking out slippers, knowing she'd have to sew elastics on; then picking out a new pair of pointe shoes (her old ones, the ones Olivia had bought and Clayton had given her at Miramar brig, were pretty worn and the pink satin had holes and tears in them) and getting ribbon to match. She'd spent the night before sewing elastics and ribbons, listening to Charlie play, and had woken that morning bright and early in delighted anticipation of being able to go to a dance class again.

She walked into the dance studio, and a wave of almost homesickness washed over her; no matter where you were or how old you were, ballet studios were the same everywhere. Hardwood floor, waist high barre running along the wall, mirrors along every available inch so you could see yourself from every angle and know you were placing your feet right, know whether the line of your body was smooth and elegant.

And she could immediately tell that most of the women here weren't serious dancers, they were here for exercise, or just gossip. As she started her stretching exercises, concentrating on each muscle group so she wouldn't injure herself later from a scanty warm-up, she tuned out the gossip and inane chatter and lost herself in the movement.

The teacher, when he walked in, proved to be a slimly-built, older gentleman with slightly Italian features who introduced himself as Monsieur Ciccolini. He had an air of resigned patience as the women scurried over to stand by the barre, then went down the line correcting stance. He gave her a single half-puzzled, half appraising glance when he found nothing to complain about her posture, then went on down the line.

And then the familiar barre routines began, to the accompaniment of music from a boombox at the front of the room. _Pliés_ in all five positions, open and closed; toe-touches, stretches designed to extend and loosen the muscles of the back for the more strenuous work that would come with center exercises later. Many of the women weren't in particularly good shape, and Cam thanked her military training and the Girlz Only workout room Hawk had provided back at base for the fact that she could still move the way she'd been trained, so long ago, to do.

The teacher spent a lot of time correcting the other women, but seemed to be keeping an eye on Cam with an increasingly puzzled look on his face. The puzzlement grew deeper when they took places in the center of the studio floor for center exercises; _pliés_ again, this time without the supporting help of the barre; arm exercises in all positions, then the teacher demonstrated different steps and had the students try their best to copy them, with varying degrees of success. Cam was the only one who seemed to be able to do the steps the way he wanted them done, and finally he called a halt to the class (upon which eight of the women immediately sat down, panting hard) and gestured to Cam to take the center as he waved the other women toward the mirrored walls. "You have studied the ballet before, _non_?" he asked.

She dropped a deep bow, an acknowledgement. "Yes, Monsieur."

"But you do not dance professionally now?"

"No, Monsieur."

He regarded her for a moment, then called out a series of steps abruptly, not demonstrating first. He didn't need to; these were easy steps, and she felt a smile stretch her lips as she felt her body flow into the steps he called. As she finished, he called out another set of steps, this time a little trickier, and she wished she had her pointe shoes on; she'd spent the evening pounding on the toes, breaking them in just so, hoping that maybe after the class she could ask the teacher if she might dance a little before the next class began. She finished that set of steps, then the teacher asked her, "Have you danced any of the ballets?"

"I learned steps to some of the parts, Monsieur, but as I was young when I stopped dancing due to an accident, I have never had the pleasure of dancing onstage."

"Hmm." He abruptly turned his attention to the rest of the adult class. "All right, enough rest. Up now." And the women got up, some of them groaning, and class resumed.

She tried to linger as the class finished, hoping to ask him if it would be okay to dance a little before the next class convened, but a couple of the women immediately approached him to ask a question, and she barely managed to fumble out a quick, "Monsieur, would it be all right if I danced before the next class?" He nodded, brusquely, then hurried away with one of the women in tow.

Delighted butterflies danced in her stomach as she tied on her pointe shoes, carefully rubbed the darned toes in the tray of crushed rock rosin in the corner of the studio to keep them from slipping on the floor, then went over to inspect the music CD's. And, of course, there was the one CD that every studio had; music to Tchaikovsky's 'Nutcracker Suite'. While the main role in the ballet went to whoever would play Mary, the best dancer in the class would typically be chosen to dance the challenging role of the Sugar Plum Fairy and Cam had taught herself the steps to that part hoping that one day she would be chosen to actually dance it onstage.

The music began, and as soon as she heard it, her body remembered the steps of the dance. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the music and movement, closing her eyes as she pirouetted and leaped through the routine.

It wasn't until the song ended that she opened her eyes, and then dropped gracelessly off pointe in mortification. The barre was lined with dancers, real dancers, not the adult beginners she'd just had class with; these dancers wore pointe shoes that showed signs of considerable wear and tear, and wore leotards and tights with similar signs of wear and use. "I'm sorry…" she turned bright red. "I asked the teacher—Monsieur Ciccolini—if it was all right to dance a little before the next class…" she dove for her bag and started hastily yanking on the ribbons to her shoes.

"No, no, that's all right, we weren't quite ready to start yet, our soloists aren't here. We're just rehearsing the _corps de ballet_ for right now," said the short, balding man dressed in black—the ballet master, obviously. "That was charming, though unpracticed. You have obvious talent. How long has it been since you danced?"

"I stopped classes when I was fifteen, due to an accident," she blushed as she yanked off her last shoe and stuffed it into her bag. "I've tried to keep in shape and dance in the years in between, but I've spent the last four years in the military and just mustered out on a medical discharge, and the doctor suggested dancing as a good way to stay in physical shape and get some flexibility back. That was why I enrolled in Monsieur Ciccolini's adult beginner's class."

The director looked at her thoughtfully. "If I may stick my beak in where it doesn't belong…you are far beyond the adult beginners of the caliber Monsieur Ciccolini teaches. You are just as good as the newest members of my corps, and with a little practice you may be better. If you have time, would you like to sit and watch this class? Just to get back into the feel of things." Cam nodded.

It was soon apparent to her that what the ballet master—Alberto Wells—had said was true. The newest and least experienced members of the corps were far and away better than the adult beginners in Cam's class, who didn't know what 'turnout' was and whose joints had stiffened to where they would never be able to do half of what these dancers were doing, but the worst of the corps were about equal to what Cam knew she herself was capable of doing, maybe even a little better. There was one fair-haired blond who had a problem with weak ankles, wobbling on pointe as she went through a quick _bourré_.

Cam watched every minute of it, committing to memory each step so she could try it later. As a child, first at Osan and then later in New York during the three years she'd gone to regular school and ballet practice, she'd sat and watched the advanced dancers while waiting for her class to start, and sitting here now watching this _corps_ rehearse brought back memories. She resolved to try these steps later, to learn the dance as these dancers were learning it, apparently for some sort of exhibition at one of New York's theaters. She made a mental note to try and get a ticket for one of the performances—Wells was an excellent choreographer and the performance of this piece should be interesting.

The _corps_ took a break when the principal dancers came in, and Wells dismissed them to the side of the room as he rehearsed the principals and soloists. The fair-haired girl immediately sat down and had a drink of bottled water; some of the other dancers did too, but many others simply took a place at the barre, keeping their muscles warm and loose by stretching so as to be ready when Wells finished with the principals and rehearsed the whole troupe. This was exactly what Cam would have done; if you allowed muscles to stiffen, then started dancing again without warming up, you could pull a muscle and seriously injure yourself.

It wasn't her place to tell this girl that, and there was a slight look about her that indicated she might not be open to constructive advice, particularly not from someone like Cam, so she held her tongue. Perhaps the girl was new, and inexperienced; she'd learn quickly or she would be out of the troupe. Either way, it wasn't going to affect Cam in the slightest, so she turned her attention to the principals rehearsing their parts.

They were good—and Cam was certain that had she continued in her ballet training, this would have been her at twenty. The female lead had great extension, incredible arches, and her male partner moved with her so flawlessly and effortlessly that Cam was irresistibly reminded of Shana and Terence doing katas together. They'd obviously been partnered for so long that they almost knew where each other was going to be at any given moment in time, and Cam experienced a moment of sheer, raw envy. _This is what I was meant to do, this is what I was born to do, and I hate my Aunt and Uncle for taking me away from this!_

But the moment passed—what had happened had happened, there was nothing she could do about it now, and really, if she had remained a dancer and been able to live her dreams, she would never have met Shana and Terence, never have met and married Charlie and had all these wonderful experiences with the Joes.

And she was able to tell Shana that with clear eyes and a clear conscience later—yes, she was slightly envious of those dancers, but no, she wouldn't trade what she had now for what they had; she had her husband, a life full of happiness ahead, friends who loved her and cared for her for herself, not because of what she could do for them—"and really," she said meditatively as she sat on the floor of the living room, doing stretches that would work the muscles of her legs and foot arches, inner thighs and calves, "Ballet is terribly competitive—I caught myself comparing my skills with the other dancers, and I'm sort of ashamed that I was thinking snobbishly of this one girl who sat down as soon as one part of the class was over instead of stretching out and getting ready for the next part. It's not like I would ever be able to do what she does, dance in a troupe—I'm so out of shape right now it's ridiculous."

Terence's hands flashed. _I think you're being too hard on yourself. You have maintained a surprising amount of flexibility, and even now you move in ways Shana can't._

Shana punched his arm. "Just wait until I give birth to the twins, Terence O'Hara, I'll get all that movement back!" He looked confusedly at her.

Cam giggled as she bent herself in half till her nose touched her knees. "Of course she doesn't move like I can right now, Terence, she's pregnant. But she'll get it back after the babies are born."

Terence shook his head in exasperation. _I wasn't talking about her pregnancy. I watch the two of you sword-dance and you both move differently. Shana has a bit more flexibility than most women, but nothing like what Cam has_. They all watched as Cam went down in a full split, then bent her back knee and touched the back of her head with the heel of that foot_. Like that. Exactly like that. You've been trained since you were little to move like that, Shana has been trained in martial arts. The two disciplines are different and teach different skills_. He returned to the point he was trying to make. _You're too hard on yourself. I've seen ballet dancers perform, and while you're not the best I've ever seen, you're certainly not the worst. However, dancers are very competitive, and I don't think that you'd have the skill and stamina now, at twenty-six, to keep up with seventeen year olds. I'm not trying to offend—_

"Don't worry. You're not. It's a basic fact. Dancers' careers are usually over by thirty." Cam sighed and relaxed, sitting back on her hands and starting to rotate her ankles. "There's no way I can keep up with the younger girls now. The class is fun though, and the troupe's choreographer said I could stay after my beginners class was over and have a half-hour to dance before the troupe comes in to rehearse, and he said if I wanted to I could stay and watch them rehearse. Some of the dancers are relatively new, and inexperienced, and having an informal audience there—me—who knows the ballet and sees faults, has them paying more attention to placement and turnout and technique. And it's true—I remember when I was younger that whenever the class had visitors we always paid more attention to what we were doing and how we looked, mostly because you never knew just who that visitor was and whether they were looking for someone to dance on stage." He look turned wistful. "I remember one year they were putting on a production of Sleeping Beauty and the ballet master decided he wanted the village scene to include some younger girls so he sent a couple of the soloists to pick out a few of the younger dancers, between twelve and fourteen. I wanted so badly to be picked."

"Did you?" Shana's voice was quiet.

Cam smiled, but it was a sad smile, and her eyes teared up. "I was. I was so excited, I would finally be able to dance onstage in a real ballet—and then when I got home and told Aunt Park, she said that the rehearsals required would be beyond her ability to drive me back and forth for. I begged and pleaded, promised to do anything, even told her I'd get a job so I could pay for my own bus tickets, but she refused and I had to go back to school the next day and tell them my Aunt said I couldn't. They picked another girl instead."

Silence for a moment, then Shana said, very softly, "That bitch."

Cam giggled as she scrubbed at her watering eyes. "That's what I thought, I just never said it aloud."

Charlie said, unexpectedly, "If you want to get tickets for this ballet the troupe is practicing for, I will go with you to see it."

Cam stared at him. "Really? But…it's not really your thing…."

"Yes," Charlie said firmly. "I would love the chance to go to the theater with you. Get the tickets and I will go."

"And so will we," Shana said. "Right, Terence?" And she punctuated her sentence with a not-so-subtle elbow in the ribs.

Terence gave a pained grimace. "_Terence_," Shana said warningly.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. _All right, all right, I'll go, I'll go!_

Shana smiled smugly.


	4. Chapter 63: Performance

**Chapter 63: Performance**

_Pli__é__. Relev__é_ to second, _tendu_, _jeté_ to a _piqué _turn…

She was concentrating hard on the steps of the dance, and so never saw Wells come in with four of the corps dancers. She didn't see Wells gesture to the four dancers to wait by the mirror while he watched her intently, and in fact had no idea anyone else was even in the studio until he cleared his throat. "_Bourré _to an open fifth, my dear, not an open third."

She dropped off pointe, startled, and flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize anyone else was in here yet."

"It's okay, we weren't ready to start. There's only a few of us here." He stepped forward. "You must be a visual learner, you've picked up the dance by watching us rehearse. But you still have some of the steps wrong." He stepped forward. "_Piqué_ turn, _glissé_ to second, _bourré_ to open fifth." She concentrated on the steps as he called them, then stopped as he stopped. "See, Madeleine, this is how I want you to move. Your _piqué_ turn should be quick, your ankles steady. You must work on those strengthening exercises I gave you. See how…" he paused, turned toward Cam. "My dear, I have to admit—two weeks of watching you watch my class and I still have no idea what your name is."

"Cameron. Cameron Arlington." Cam stammered out.

"See how Cameron turns her leg out from the hip instead of the knee. As a result, her supporting ankle does not wobble and throw her off balance—this is the kind of control I want you to develop."

Cam flushed at the angry look the younger dancer gave her. _Hey, it's not my fault you have weak ankles. And I know for a fact that you aren't working on those strengthening exercises—I heard you complaining to another dancer about being told to do them when you were coming in the other day._ By now, Cam had gotten to know a few of the other dancers. Some of the girls were friendly—the principals, Eliza and Peter Martin, had invited her out for coffee one day after class. A couple of the other girls would chat with Cam after the corps rehearsal was done and the principals were rehearsing, before Wells rehearsed the entire company.

From them Cam had learned the ballet was one of Wells' own, a piece that he'd put together called Allegra, and they were rehearsing it so that they could open for one of the larger dance troupes in the city when that troupe put on a production of _Sleeping Beauty_ in mid-October. The first act of Wells' ballet would be performed at the beginning, to open for the larger dance troupe; and the second act would be performed during the intermission of _Sleeping Beauty_, and since the ballet was scheduled to run for two weeks, they would be dancing every night for two weeks.

Eliza had promised to get Cam a ticket for one of the performances, but Cam was also planning on getting five more; Charlie, Shana, and Terence wanted to see it, and Allie and Liv were interested too. Clayton and Dash were going to leave Duke at base to handle things for the evening and babysit Auggie while they went to the ballet with Liv and Allie, and altogether it was an evening out that everyone (except maybe Terence and Clayton) was looking forward to.

But in the meantime, getting the dancers to put on a credible performance seemed to be going all right, though several dancers clearly had problems. Madeleine was one of the ones who needed constant correction from Wells, who always seemed to be doing something wrong, yet she was the first one in the troupe to point out another dancer's faults. Wells had looked irritated with her comments several times but hadn't commented, but Cam rather got the feeling that the rest of the troupe didn't like her much—she was not invited to hang out with the other girls after class or rehearsals, or go for coffee afterwards.

"Cameron, please repeat that last sequence of steps." Cam did, and Wells watched her critically, then nodded as she finished. "Like that. Remember that, Madeleine. Now, Cameron, if you would clear the floor…"

Madeleine did seem to be trying harder to not earn criticism that day, honestly seeming as though she were actually trying to better her own performance than to pick out the mistakes others made. At the end of the class Wells dismissed his dancers and came straight over to where Cam sat. "So. You are an experienced dancer with good technique and obvious talent, yet you do not dance professionally though you are clearly good enough to do so and you wanted to, very badly, at some point. Am I right?"

"You are," Cam said quietly. "I did want to, things just didn't go my way, I guess."

"So what do you do now?"

Cam shrugged. "I'm sort of in between jobs at the moment, I guess you could say. I took a medical discharge from the Army and I'm just staying in New York until my best friend gives birth to her twins, then my husband and I will head out to my tribe's reservation out in Western New York."

"You are Native American?"

She smiled. "Most people look at me and see Asian, but yes, I am half Native American on my father's side. Iroquois, Wolf Clan, Seneca Tribe, on the Six Nations reservation in Western New York."

"And you are Army."

"Ex-Army," she said.

"An Army soldier who can dance. There is more to you than meets the eye, Cameron."

"Cam. My friends call me Cam. "

He smiled at her. "So. Cam. And what medical reason did they have to discharge you?"

She hesitated, not wanting to get into the details of her past, then settled for a partial truth. "I was badly injured on the last mission I went on, and it left scars that reduced my mobility. I opted for scar reduction surgery, and it worked, but given that any further injury I make to that part of my body would result in permanent disability, I took the medical discharge they offered me and mustered out along with my husband. We're just waiting until our friends have their twins before going home to the reservation."

"And what will you do then?"

She shrugged. "Relax. Enjoy life. All my life I've been surrounded by people who told me what to do, where to go, how to act…the only person who never asked me to be anything other than myself was my husband. So now…I get to do only what I want to do from now on. It's liberating."

"And you chose to take a dance class with a group of out-of-shape housewives who have no idea what turnout is and how to _plié_ properly."

She had to laugh at that. "They aren't that bad—okay, maybe some of them. But I'm not up to an advanced class, and I'm definitely no longer good enough for a corps, like yours."

"You don't think you are better than Madeleine?" But he said it with a sardonically arched eyebrow.

"I think I have better technique. But she is still young, and inexperienced, and she'll mature a bit. I don't have the strength or stamina to keep up with girls her age."

Wells folded his arms. "I chose Madeleine for this out of the other girls in her class because I wanted her to have the experience of dancing with a troupe and because frankly, there was no one else. We are a small school, a small troupe, and the larger schools attract the better, more talented dancers. I don't have much talent to draw on here, and she was the best dancer in the advanced class who was not already with the troupe."

Cam blinked as she absorbed that. If Madeleine was the best in his advanced class…so that was why the girl was here and why someone who was such a poor team player was tolerated. "She'll mature a bit," Cam said finally. "She'll get a little experience and she'll learn. The first time I saw her she sat down after the corps rehearsed instead of stretching and warming up for the full company rehearsal. Today she kept stretching even after the corps was done—I think she finally realized she needs to stay warmed up or she risks serious injury. So she's learning, it's just slower."

"I hope you're right." Wells frowned.

She'd left the phone number to their apartment with the front desk at the dance school in case of an emergency, but never expected them to use it. It was, therefore, a complete surprise when the phone rang a week later as she, Charlie, Shana, and Terence prepared to pile into the minivan Shana and Terence had bought to go out to meet Liv and Allie. The six of them were planning to have a leisurely dinner at Knickerbocker's before heading out to the theater to watch the opening night of 'Sleeping Beauty'—and the debut of Wells' 'Allegra'.

Shana got to it first, then held it out to Cam. "It's for you. That dance teacher, Alberto Wells?"

Cam frowned as she took it from Shana's hand. "Mr. Wells?"

"Cameron? Oh thank goodness I got you!" The ballet master was as close to panic as she'd ever heard him. "I need you to come to the theater and dance tonight."

It took a moment before Cam found her voice. "Me? Dance? But…why?"

"Madeleine sprained her ankle in class this morning. There is no one else who knows the ballet well enough to dance it except you. I know you are not a member of the troupe, and I am asking a huge favor, but please, if you can come and dance her part in the corps until I can get another dancer to replace her, I would appreciate it."

"But…I…can't you just cut her part out, she is after all a very junior member of the corps and few will notice one less dancer on the stage?" But Cam was already grabbing a pen and a piece of paper and scribbling a quick message to Shana, Terence, and Charlie, who crowded close to see it: 'Wells wants me to dance tonight. Another dancer sprained her ankle and he wants me to dance her part tonight.' Shana gave a jubilant but silent cheer; Charlie was grinning as he patted her shoulder.

"Cam, you have seen us rehearse this for a month. I have seen you dance the part, perfectly, better than Madeleine dances it, in your private studio time. Monsieur Ciccolini says you are the best dancer in his class and while not in condition to dance in a troupe night after night, he feels certain that you can dance it for a few nights until a replacement can be found. And you know as well as I do that the ballet requires an equal number of dancers on both sides of the stage—the symmetry is an important ingredient. So please, I am asking if you will come, right now—we need time to rehearse you with the rest of the _corps_, and for the costume to be altered to fit you if it does not already—Madeleine is a bit taller than you."

Cam made a quick decision. "All right, I'll come, and I promise I'll try not to disgrace the company." And she hung up the phone, but sat for long moments, feeling like she'd suddenly fallen down a rabbit hole. "I can't believe I'm going to be dancing on a stage in front of an actual audience, with a real company." She said dazedly to Charlie and Shana. "It's…unbelievable." She looked at them. "Can you trade your tickets for a different day? I don't know if you'd enjoy the ballet quite as much watching an inexperienced dancer like me stumble around onstage."

"You silly idiot," Shana said, affectionately but in exasperation. "All you've talked about for weeks is this ballet, and you've practiced. I've seen you doing steps in the bathroom hanging onto the towel rail, for pity's sake. If Mr. Wells didn't think you were capable of it he wouldn't have asked you to step in for this injured girl, and of course we're not going to consider trading tickets for a different day—we're your friends, you think we wouldn't want to watch you dance?" She shook her head. "Go get your bag and get out to that studio. I'll call Clayton and Liv and Allie and let them know there's been a change in plans. Maybe Alex will take your ticket and talk Ettienne into coming with her." The thought of the big Cajun wedged into a theater seat watching ballet dancers made all three of them chuckle just as Terence came in…carrying Cam's ballet bag.

He handed it to her, and his hands flashed. _You will be fine. We'll be cheering for you. Now go! That's an order, Corporal!_

And who was she to ignore the order of a Master Sergeant?

Spontaneous applause broke out among the dancers on the theater stage as she arrived, slightly out of breath. "I had to ask where the theater was at the office," she explained as she stopped in front of Wells.

"You found us, and that's what matters. Now, we have to get the costume fitted. The wardrobe mistress is backstage, so if you'll slip back there…"

Cam hadn't even thought about the costume yet, so it was with trepidation that she went to find the wardrobe mistress, suddenly apprehensive that it would be a skimpy tutu that would show far more of her skin than she was comfortable with. Fortunately, though, it turned out to be a neck to wrist to ankle full body unitard, printed with bands of color. The sleeves and ankles had to be hemmed to accommodate Cam's shorter legs and arms, but the wardrobe mistress assured her that was simple and could be done while she was rehearsing, and it would be ready by the time the ballet was to start at seven PM. So Cam skimmed out of the unitard, careful not to dislodge the pins so carefully set into the cuffs, and went to join the other dancers.

It felt so, so strange standing there on a brightly-lit stage, looking out into the darkened theater, and she made careful note of where her friends would be sitting so that when the stage lights were on and she couldn't actually see past the footlights, she would still know where they were and be able to smile in their direction. The steps she already knew, although dancing solo was much less tricky than dancing as part of the corps. There were two lines of _corps de ballet_ dancers on either side of the stage, and their chorus lines crossed each other several times during the course of the dance, which was partly why having a dancer replace Madeleine had been so essential to the ballet—there had to be an equal number of dancers for this to be successful.

But already knowing the steps by heart helped, in that she could let her body move while she focused on keeping pace with the others, neither lagging behind and causing the dancer behind her to stumble, nor going too fast and running into the dancer in front of her. It all had to be very carefully timed, and fortunately the music Wells had chosen had a very fast drum beat under the melody that helped one keep time. So it was with a sense of victory and elation that they ran through a full rehearsal of the first act with no trouble, then the second, and Wells sent them off to get dressed in costume with a parting, "You all know your parts. Dance well, luck be with you, and remember to enjoy yourselves!"

When the curtain rose, it rose to a packed theater. Although Cam knew they had come to see the popular company's production of Sleeping Beauty and not Wells' short debut piece, she forgot all of that as she rose on pointe and glided out on stage with the rest of the _corps_. And then the music rose, swelled, and she lost herself in the beauty of the music and the sheer pleasure of movement.

Out in the audience, Liv leaned over and whispered to Clayton. "Better wipe your eyes before your soldiers see you crying."

He shot her an offended look, but dashed his sleeve quickly across his eyes. "I'm not crying."

"Uh-huh. Okay." Olivia gave him a knowing look, but fortunately for his dignity, she didn't press the subject. "But I know what you mean," she said moments later, very quietly. "I can't tell the difference between her up there and the rest of the experienced dancers. She belongs up there, dancing. I watch her now and if I had her Aunt and Uncle in front of me right now I would shoot them and never lose any sleep over it. Such an incredibly disgusting, colossal waste of talent, to keep her locked in a basement when she could have been dancing. And it's too late now for her to turn this into a career. But at least she had this one experience up there, one long-held dream fulfilled."


	5. Chapter 64: Storm Warning

**Chapter 64: Storm Warning**

"Jesus, can you believe the size of this storm?" Shana exclaimed as she flipped the channel to the six o'clock news. "Look at what it's done to Cuba!"

"Yeah, and it's heading for the East Coast. Thank goodness all the SERE classes in North Carolina have wrapped for the year, so none of the trainees will get caught in it." Cam shot her a significant look over the bowl of salad she was tossing.

Shana put her glass of iced tea down on the counter as she checked on the burgers sitting on the countertop grill. "Well, you all wouldn't have been caught out in it if a certain someone hadn't decided you all would be better off out there than in Broadview's tender mercies," she said as she expertly flipped a couple of the burgers off the grill and onto a plate, replacing it with two raw burgers.

Cam flushed. "Well, I have to admit, thinking back on it now I realize Broadview wouldn't have…" she trailed off as Shana stared at her.

"You idiot. I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about Clayton!" Shana rolled her eyes. "You might have made the recommendation, but he was the one who decided to move the team out." She tossed back the last mouthful of tea in her glass and poured herself another glass. "I did some checking. As the most senior of personnel there, he could have pulled rank on everyone, called for a halt to the training right there, and ended the training exercise. He should have. It was definitely an emergency, he didn't have to wait until Allie and Charlie had rescued all of you and taken you back to Camp Mackall before he called a halt to the exercises. I still don't know why he didn't even think about it. Typical thickheaded male." She shook her head. "But in answer to your question, Cam, stop doubting yourself because I firmly believe that yes, Broadview would have left you out there in the pens by yourself. He had a real animosity toward you because of your race, and it wasn't fair, and I am glad he was found guilty at the court martial." She handed Cam a couple of tomatoes. "Here. See if you can slice a couple of tomatoes without mangling them or your fingers."

Cam shot her a dirty look, which she then spoiled by laughing; Shana just grinned and set about laying out the condiments for the burgers they were cooking. She'd just finished that when the door to the apartment opened and Terence and Charlie walked in.

Shana had a sudden craving for peanut butter ice cream, and Terence had been all too happy to run and get it for her. Charlie had gone too, presumably to let the girls handle dinner, but as he came in now, both women saw him carrying a small brown paper shopping bag.

"What…is…"but Charlie was already holding it out to her with a broad grin, and Cam's face lit up as she took it from him and peeked inside. "Charlie! My favorite!"

Shana took the bag from her as she threw her arms around Charlie and peeked inside. Chocolates. Fancy chocolates, from one of New York's premier _chocolatiers_; while Cam was perfectly happy with a regular chocolate bar (candy having been a rare event even in her childhood at Osan, nonexistent during her time with her Aunt and Uncle) Charlie would occasionally stop at one of New York's many sweet shops and bring back something new and exotic to try. Chocolates with cinnamon, chocolate covered nuts, chocolate covered fruits, and even, one day as a joke, he'd brought back chocolate-covered crickets.

The joke ended up being on him; Cam ate them. Shana was still not sure if she'd eaten them just to ruin the joke, or if she'd genuinely wanted to try them. At any rate, Charlie stuck to chocolate covered fruit and nuts after that, no more unusual foods, but there was plenty of variety even in that and he'd quickly found that Cam loved chocolate-covered hazelnuts, and that was his favorite treat for her.

She disengaged the hug and reached for the bag, somewhat guiltily. "I shouldn't have one before dinner, I always hear Mama Annie saying 'you'll spoil your dinner!' but I can't help it." She unwrapped one of the chocolates and popped it in her mouth, then closed her eyes in bliss and went, "Mmmm."

Shana laughed as she took the bag away from Cam. "No more, or you _will_ spoil your dinner. See, I'm not even eating my ice cream yet." She turned to the men. "Wash your hands and come fix your burgers."

She left the TV on as they sat on the couch and ate their dinner (or rather, Shana sat on the couch and leaned over the coffee table; Terence sat beside her, and Cam and Charlie ate, picnic-style, on the floor. They seemed to be most at home there; evenings when they all sat down to watch a movie Shana would lie down with her head on the arm of the couch, Terence would sit on the opposite side of the couch with her legs in his lap (more often than not, massaging her sore feet) Charlie would sit with his back to the sofa and Cam would sit in front of him, performing leg and ankle exercises while he massaged the muscles in her back.

Tonight as they sat and ate, they watched the news. Over the last few weeks a hurricane had been brewing out in the middle of the Atlantic, slowly making its way northeast, and currently half the weather models were showing it heading for the East Coast of the US . "It can't hit here," Shana said, shaking her head. "We've never had anything stronger than a tropical storm hit the East Coast."

"When the hurricane made landfall last year, when Clayton and I were in North Carolina, it was a weak Category One hurricane," Cam reminded her.

"Yeah, but that was North Carolina. It can't possibly hit New York as a category one," Shana said dismissively.

Charlie was looking at the weather map. "Well, according to what they're saying, there's a weather front coming down from Canada that will be sitting over us at about the same time and the two are going to combine. That's a nasty combination."

"But there's this other weather model here that says they're going to end up bouncing off each other and head off into the Atlantic. I think that's more likely. I'm not going to worry about it, anyway. It's not like it's going to shut down the city. Even if it does hit there will probably be some minor flooding and that'll be it. At any rate, we're in a high rise apartment building in the middle of the city so it's not going to affect us much."

Cam studied the flood zone maps the forecaster was showing. "Look. Liv and Clayton's house is right on the edge of the least likely flood zone, but what do you want to bet he's going to tell Liv she should evacuate?"

"You should evacuate," Clayton insisted.

On the other end of the phone, he could almost hear Olivia roll her eyes. "Clayton, there's three flood zones; likely, less likely, and least likely. We're right on the outside edge of the least likely zone. I checked and we aren't on the mandatory evacuation list. No one's knocked on our door to let us know we had to. And where would I go anyway?"

"Go into the city. Stay with Shana and Cam and Charlie and Terence. At your old apartment. Just until the storm passes."

"Clayton…"

"Please, Liv. Please don't be so stubborn. Humor an old man, okay?" He would have liked to simply order her to go stay with Shana and Cam at her old apartment, but she wasn't one of his soldiers, and she sure as hell wouldn't listen to an order from him—he'd found that out already. Just like his other girls, who wouldn't simply do what he (or any of Their Guys) told them unless it was an order from a commanding officer to a subordinate. And even then The Girls could, and did, subject those orders to their own female interpretation. Usually with good results, but sometimes not—Courtney, with her youth, hotheadedness and impulsiveness, made bad decisions sometimes, Shana and Allie—rarely.

But this was the one time, with the one person in the world, who was least likely to listen to an order from him, and would snap his head off if he so much as tried. He'd learned over the last eight months of Auggie's life that he could get Liv to listen to him more readily if he coaxed and cajoled and explained to her why he saw something a certain way, why he wanted her to do something specific. She was open-minded enough to think objectively about his reasons for saying or thinking or doing something, and occasionally once he explained himself she'd do what he asked. "I know the house isn't that close to the water, but I saw the news reports that say that high tide is going to coincide with full moon, and that means storm surge is going to be higher. And if the storm comes ashore as a Category One there will be power outages all over the city, and Shana's due any day now—if she goes into labor when you're there you've got the connections to get her to a hospital quickly." It actually had been something he'd been thinking about, so he wasn't exactly lying.

And, as he knew she would, she thought over what he'd said and conceded his point. "All right. I still say you're being alarmist, but seeing as how you went through a hurricane last year at Camp Mackall, I'll accept that you might have a little more experience with stuff like this and I'll go join Shana and Cam at the Manhattan apartment." He could almost hear the smile in her voice. "I could probably even get Terence to change Auggie's diaper—tell him it's practice for when he has his own."

Oh Terence would absolutely love that—not. And Shana would be tickled pink—and Cam would spend most of her time playing with Auggie. She adored him, and he adored her. Not as much as he loved his mother, no, but he definitely liked her. Clayton hoped Shana's twins would like Cam too.

That done, he hung up the phone, reassured that she and his son would be safe, and switched off the TV as he got up. The base was busy preparing since they couldn't evacuate—you couldn't evacuate a base that officially wasn't there—but they were underground, and he didn't anticipate any major effects from the storm. Yes, the power might go out—hence the generators they'd dragged out of storage and made sure they had fuel for a few days, and were confining use of the generators to essential areas only—mess, rec, residence levels. Duty had been suspended for the duration of the storm; the guys were now busy making sure the lowest levels of The Pit were watertight and secure; caulking around the doors to the motorpool so that the garage wouldn't flood and making sure they had plenty of water so that if the worst predictions came true and week-long power outages meant water treatment plants shut down for a few days, they would have enough water. Food was definitely not a problem—since they never knew when they were going out on missions, how many people they would send, where they'd be sent and how long they'd be gone, there were three supply rooms at Joe base filled with cases of MREs—Meals Ready to Eat. Allie and Courtney had appointed themselves entertainment directors, hauling two old pool tables from out of storage somewhere and getting that set up in the Rec Room; running around base urging everyone to bring their favorite movies to share; digging out old board games and packs of cards and poker chips. Although Clayton didn't approve of gambling, bored soldiers meant trouble, so if a game of poker with no monetary stakes kept the peace, he was willing to allow it…this once.

"Everything all set?" he asked Allie as the brunette Staff Sergeant joined him at the door to the Rec room. The refrigerator had been joined by another one, and both were full of water. A couple of cases of MREs were sitting on the floor, and there was a generous pile of DVDs sitting in front of the big-screen TV at the far end of the room. The big couch had been taken out and rows of chairs had been set out in front of them, movie-theater style; the two extra pool tables were also set up and extra pool sticks had been added to the rack against the wall.

"We're as set as we're going to be," Allie said happily. "Luckily for us, we have a couple of personnel who went through a couple of cyclones—Pacific hurricanes—while stationed at Okinawa, and I enlisted their help getting ready for this storm. According to them, everything we have set up right now is ingredients for a good hurricane party."

Clayton grinned at her look. "So I can just leave all of this in your capable hands."

"Yep. Look, I know it's not my place to say, but I looked at the flood zone maps and while we are in a flood zone but can't evacuate, Liv and Auggie are on the edge of the furthest flood zone and I was wondering if you'd considered letting her come here to spend the time or if she had somewhere to go…" she trailed off at Clayton's nod.

"I told her to go into Manhattan and stay with Shana and Cam at the Manhattan apartment. It'll be a little crowded, but it's only for a couple of days till the storm passes."

"You told her?" Allie raised an eyebrow.

Clayton blushed. "Okay, okay, I didn't tell her, I made a very strong recommendation, and she said she would," he muttered. "Damn it, there are times when I really wish she was one of my soldiers, then I could just tell her to do something and she would have to obey."

"All due respect, Clayton, but even if she were, no, she would not 'have to' obey you. While regulations on paper say a subordinate needs to obey their superiors, and we face consequences when we don't, we do have the option of disregarding them. Look at this base, for example; you give us orders, and we do follow them, but if we have issues with those orders, we don't follow them—and if you can see the logic behind the reason for the refusal, you don't make an issue of it. You haven't called any of us on the carpet for issues like that." She thought for a moment.

"While the military inculcates obedience to superiors into us in training, and continues to drill it into us throughout our careers, independent thinking and logical reasoning are also a large part of being a soldier and being a good soldier also means knowing when to throw the rule book out of the window for the greater good. Blind obedience leads to situations like Alex's with General Clancy—in fact, the entire deplorable incident with Clancy was out of blind obedience. She blindly listened when he pulled his 'I'm the General and you're the civilian and I know better' crap, and then he tried it on us, telling you to send a five-man team with no support. You had the sense enough to quietly ensure there was a contingency team at Entebbe, and if Dash hadn't made the decision to buck rules and bring Alex back with us, she wouldn't be here today and neither would you—Clancy set this up very carefully so that if we had blindly followed his orders Alex would have died and you would have lost this command, likely been court-martialled, and ended up in Leavenworth. Things would have ended up very, very differently."

He nodded in acknowledgement of that.

"And being a good leader means knowing when your soldiers make decisions for the greater good, and knowing when to throw the book at them for insubordination—and when to reward them for intelligent independent thinking. And as soldiers we make those decisions knowing that it could backfire and we're responsible if it does. Risks like those keep bad decisions to a minimum—but do a great deal of good when they work. And sometimes you just have to go with your gut feeling even when you know there will be a penalty anyway. Sometimes the greater good outweighs personal cost."

He thought about that for a couple minutes, looking at the bustle of activity in the Rec room while he digested what Allie had said. She was right, blind obedience could bring good soldiers down, while intelligent, thinking responses tended to win you medals. And Alex would, indeed, not be here if he'd blindly followed Clancy's orders; neither would he, neither would Auggie, and neither would Cam. It was an incredible string of events brought on by both good decisions and bad ones, that had gotten them through the tumultuous events of the last year. They had been through so much, as a team, since Clancy had first said 'I need your help' a little over a year ago. "I guess you're right," he said finally.

"I know I'm right. I've served under you for the last eight or so years. I'll retire as one of your soldiers."

"What?" he focused on her. "You're what?"

"Don't look so surprised, you can't say you haven't seen this coming. Shana and Terence are married and expecting kids, and Dash and I have been doing some thinking and we're going to do that too. Neither of us is getting any younger, and we've always known we were going to get married and have kids someday. We just didn't know when. And you and I both know that we can't get married while still here—he's a Warrant Officer and I'm a Staff Sergeant. This whole thing first with Cam and Charlie, then Shana almost dying, kinda made both of us look at where we were and what our priorities were, and we both agreed that as devoted as we were to our careers, family is important to us too and we are going to leave the project. At some point."

"So I shouldn't be grooming Dash to take over when I leave."

She grinned crookedly at him. "No, I guess not. But Duke…he's a good candidate. No ties holding him down, devoted to his career. No significant other. He fell in love with Shana, you know, back when they were both posted to Fort Benning, but he never admitted it to her or himself. And he knows she loves Terence, and Terence loves her, and he wasn't going to stand in her way, but I don't think he's ever going to be as serious with another woman as he was with Shana. He's a good candidate." She patted his arm. "So think about that." And she was off, heading for the corner of the Rec room where Courtney and Wayne had started to argue over placement of the last pool table.

Clayton headed back to his office, thinking hard.


	6. Chapter 65: Storm Rising

**Chapter 65: Storm Rising**

"Cameron Arlington."

Clayton felt a lump rise to his throat and had to swallow it down quickly. She'd been laughing right before she picked up the phone—he could hear the laughter in her voice—and while he was glad that civilian life was giving her more joy than being in the military, he still wished serving under him could have made her happy. "Hey, Cam," proud that his voice didn't waver.

"Are you okay? You sound kind of…odd." Damn it, Shana could do that, know when he was feeling some strong emotion, and apparently she was rubbing off on Cam. _Maybe it is a good thing they're both going their separate ways—I don't think my base could handle having two mindreaders!_

But all he said was, "I think I'm coming down with a bit of a cold. I just wanted to give you a call and find out how you all are doing. Has Liv gotten there yet?"

He could almost hear the frown. "Is she supposed to?"

"I asked her to go into Manhattan and stay with you and Shana in the apartment until the storm's passed. I was hoping she'd gotten there by now, they're predicting the rain's going to start any moment now." The forecasters had said the rain would start around midday and last for about two days.

"She hasn't…wait, there goes the door buzzer. Hold on." She put the phone down, but in the background, very faintly, he heard the sound of the chain lock on the front door of the apartment being unhooked, then he heard Shana's voice. "Liv! Wow, have you got a lot of stuff! Here, let me have Auggie…"

Cam came back on the phone, and the laughter was back in her voice. "Wow, she actually listened to you and came here."

Clayton choked on his own laughter. "Smart-ass."

"Guilty as charged." Cam didn't sound at all sorry. "Look, she's brought a lot of stuff with her. Let me have her call you once she's settled, okay?"

"All right," and he put the phone down. _Brought a lot of stuff? How long does she think she's going to have to stay?_

Shana took Auggie from Liv's overburdened arms, "What on earth is all this stuff? You're just coming to stay for a day, maybe two, until the storm passes."

"Babies need a lot of stuff," Olivia retorted as she hauled two boxes of diapers into the door. "And I figured since I was coming here anyway, I'd bring you my baby shower gift—diapers for your twins. You're due in another week or so, and I didn't want them to get wet at my house. We haven't had a good rain since I moved in and I didn't want to test the roof or the basement. And statistically, babies get born in storms."

"Don't say that." Shana made a face. "I am going to give birth in a hospital, with doctors and nurses and plenty of pain medication. I'm not having the twins here."

"If you want to make the gods laugh, tell them your plans," Cam quipped, then ducked the swat Shana aimed in her direction.

"Don't say it. Don't even _think_ it. I'm going to forget I heard it. Liv, I'll set up Auggie's high chair in the kitchen. Cam, go ahead and spread that blanket out on the floor so Auggie can sprawl to his little heart's content. Terence, help me get these diapers into our room—on the floor of the closet, next to my shoes…and Charlie, Cam, help Liv get the sleeper sofa set up. Liv, did you bring his crib?"

"Um, no I didn't I didn't think there'd be enough room for it. And he's been sleeping with me lately anyway. The house is new and he's not used to being so far away from me. When I moved in his crib was beside my bed, I slowly moved him to the other side of the room, then out into the hall, and we're working toward getting him down the hall to his own room but we aren't there yet. If he wakes in the middle of the night and doesn't see me he cries, so I've been taking him into bed with me until he gets used to the place. He'll be fine sleeping with me on the sleeper sofa until the storm passes."

"As long as you're sure." Cam was setting up Auggie's playpen. "Oh, by the way, Clayton called just as you rang the doorbell. He wants you to call him as soon as you get settled."

"Oh for pity's sake," Liv sighed, exasperated. "Overprotective, stubborn—"

"—don't forget thickheaded," Shana said with a giggle in her voice.

"—thickheaded male!" Liv finished. "I told him we were going to be fine, but he practically demanded that I come and stay with you. I think if I'd been one of his soldiers he would have ordered me to come here—and he would have expected me to obey too!"

"He probably would," Cam grinned, but then sobered. "I don't know if he's ever been deployed to an overseas base in a hurricane or cyclone zone, but at their absolute worst these storms have a lot of potential to do a lot of damage."

"Were you ever in a bad one while you lived at Osan?"

Cam shook her head. "Not really, though I remember a couple where the power was out for several days and parts of the base flooded. But none of them were really bad—a couple of the Korean women who sold fresh produce to the base or did civilian work around it told us horror stories about bad ones when they were little. Flooding bad enough to take out power for weeks, sewage treatment plants didn't have power to treat water so there was no fresh water from the taps, no gas for generators because there was no electricity to run the pumps…" she shook her head. "We've all been watching the weather forecasts very closely and I can tell you this has me really worried. I think this could potentially be really bad if the storm makes landfall at high tide, and I think Clayton was right to send you here. I think your house is going to flood in this storm."

"Hmm. Okay, I guess I'll go easy on him. Anyway, he'll at least be happy that I came."

"And you're just in time for lunch. Shana made a lovely chicken soup with rice."

"I thought I smelled something good." Liv grinned. "Okay, let me call Clayton and assure him that Auggie and I got here safely, and we can eat."

Clayton heaved a sigh audible to Olivia on the other end of the phone. "I'm glad you got there. What took you so long?"

She couldn't help rolling her eyes again; she knew he knew that was what she was doing, and across the kitchen, Shana clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. "Clayton, traveling with a baby isn't easy or quick. Especially when you're planning to stay a few days with said baby in an already-crowded apartment. Diapers, formula, baby food, toys…all that stuff has to travel too."

He sounded crestfallen. "I didn't think about that."

She sighed…and rolled her eyes again. "Thickheaded male."

He laughed on the other end, and her annoyance with him melted. She could never stay mad at him when he laughed. Thinking about how the corners of his eyes crinkled with merriment, of a full smile on a face that, because of his career choices, didn't get to smile often, was worth it. "Okay, rebuke accepted. I'm just glad you're safe, Liv. If the end of the world happens, you're with four Army officers fully capable of keeping you and Auggie alive."

"I'm not exactly helpless myself, Clayton, and I will die before I let anyone touch our son," she reminded him fiercely. "And as one of those four Army officers you mentioned is heavily pregnant and looks like she's going to pop any minute now, she's vulnerable and we'll protect both her and Auggie. Now, are you guys set over there?"

"We are. Extra pool tables, water and MREs, everything necessary for a good hurricane party. A couple of my guys were posted to Okinawa a little while back and remembered the preparations they made there for a typhoon, so they helped us prepare for this one."

"Cam said she went through a couple while she lived at Osan, and she heard stories from the older locals about really bad ones they lived through. She says she thinks this one has the potential to do a lot of damage. And from what I saw on the news, I agree with her, and that was mostly why I came here. If I didn't think the same, I would have stayed home."

"You wouldn't have gone just because I asked you to?" His voice held a tone of mock hurt.

She sighed. "Clayton, I have lived my entire life in New York. I've seen more of this city, both good and bad, in my forty-plus years than most people see. Certainly more than you, who, while you may have been commander of a New York Base for the last decade, haven't really gotten to know the city because of the nature of your job and your assignment. So if I hadn't heard how serious this is likely to be, and hadn't seen many New Yorkers taking this seriously and stocking up on water and food, no, I would not have evacuated simply on your say-so. Think about what you'd do in my place."

He thought…and had to agree with her. "Okay," he finally said reluctantly."I can see your point. Just…I'm glad you decided to evacuate, and in a couple of days we'll be sitting in our house and laughing about my alarmist fantasies."

But she was serious when she answered. "Let's wait and see what this storm will bring before we make any such plans. If the worst case scenario happens, it might be a few days to a week before we're all back home." But then she lightened. "But we've got plenty to keep us occupied here, so you go take care of your soldiers, and I'll take care of our little soldier." Auggie had recently started saluting—in a very sloppy, babyish fashion that was somehow all the more endearing. "And I'll see you after the storm."

"I want you to call me as soon as you can," Clayton said. "It's noon Monday now, and it's already been raining all morning, and the wind is starting to pick up—Courtney was helping bring all of my men's personal vehicles into the motorpool and she had to drive a few outside temporarily in order to get everything to fit. They just got done. I want to hear from you by the end of the day tomorrow, okay?"

"Clayton! Okay!" Olivia was half-amused, half exasperated. "I'll call you as soon as I can, okay?"

And there was nothing he could say to that except 'okay.'

The atmosphere in the Rec room was jovial when Clayton walked in. After he'd declared this a holiday for the base, his soldiers had slipped into casual clothes, and the majority of them were already in the Rec room, a handful of them (Courtney included) shooting pool (while Wayne fumed and glowered at every male whose eyes happened to be pointed in the blond tank jockey's direction when she was bent over the edge of the pool table lining up a shot.) A couple of his guys were relaxing on the chairs in the 'theater' of chairs as Allie and Dash got in a…well, 'spirited' would be the politest way to describe their discussion…over which movie they were going to put in the DVD player first, while others were studiously trying to ignore the argument and were paying more attention to the weather report on the TV.

Clayton slipped into a chair beside Ettienne as he popped open a beer. There were few occasions when he allowed it, so it was a treat to his soldiers when they could indulge, and he wanted to make it clear to them that he did approve and was going to join them. They didn't have a large stash, just enough for everyone to have a couple and relax. "So," he said to the big Cajun. "Is Alex all set?"

"She's set. I made sure she has extra water and everything else she might need, and while she chided me about being overprotective—as I'm sure Liv did you—she's aware that this could potentially be bad and she's promised to stay put till the storm is over and call me as soon as she can when the storm passes."

"Aren't you worried?" Clayton frowned at the casual tone in the big Marine's voice.

Ettienne rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am, but there's little we can do about it right now. I did everything I could to make sure she'd be ready, and when I left she was getting a bit snappy and muttering something about my being a 'thickheaded male' so I figured this would be a good time to back off. We're all as prepared as we're going to get, and she's not all that far from Shana and Cam's apartment, so she knows where to go if she needs help, and that's all I'm going to be able to do at this point, so there isn't really any use in waiting and worrying about her anymore. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

"Which means you're worrying anyway."

"Of course. I wouldn't be a decent boyfriend if I didn't." Ettienne took a quick look around the rec room to see if anyone was watching the two of them, then dug into the capacious pockets of his ubiquitous utility vest and produced a tiny velvet box in one large fist. Clayton knew what it was before he opened it.

An engagement ring. A silver band, set with diamonds and an aquamarine the same color as Alex's ice-blue eyes. "Wow."

"I hope she likes it." Ettienne gave the ring a smile, then quickly closed the box and stowed it back into his pocket. "I haven't proposed to her yet—I saw this in a jeweler's store and it just screamed 'Alex' to me, so I bought it." He sighed. "You know, Clayton, as much as I love being here and being a part of the project, I'm not as young as I used to be and it's getting harder to keep up with some of the younger greenshirts coming up through the ranks. I will say I've been thinking of mustering out after my enlistment period is up next year and settling down with her."

"I sort of had the feeling you would." Allie and Shana had been hinting as much to him recently. "All I can say is, you do what you have to do, and while I will miss serving with you—you're one of the finest soldiers I've ever had the privilege to serve with or command—the military isn't everything and you deserve a life of your own outside of all this." His wave took in the base around them. "I think seeing Shana go through what she went through kind of got a lot of us thinking about having a life outside the military, because Allie kind of hinted the same thing to me about her and Dash…and you know they can't get married while in the military."

Ettienne grinned crookedly. "Yeah, I know. We all know." They both grinned as Allie (having apparently lost the argument with Dash about which movie to put in first) plopped herself down in one of the chairs in front of the little 'theater' and glowered as Dash started the player and dimmed the lights in that corner of the Rec room, then sat down beside her. A few seconds later she was leaning on his shoulder and his arm was lying across the back of her chair...and starting to curl, ever so tentatively, around her shoulder. "So have you thought about mustering out and settling down? God knows you've got enough time to pull a pension."

And since everyone's attention seemed to be either taken up by the movie playing on the TV, or the smaller TV to one side of the room tuned to the local news channel so they could keep track of the storm's progress, or the cheerfully argumentative (and noisy) game of pool going on by Wayne and Courtney, Clayton took this time to tell Ettienne about his idea to open his own private security firm.

"I like that idea," Ettienne said quietly when Clayton finally fell silent. "Being able to help people, to pick and choose which assignments to take, which missions to accept, to apply our own code of honor to those missions rather than the military's…I do like that idea, Clayton." He thought for a moment. "You know there's already a firm out there like that—they're called Team Rubicon. They're ex-military and they go into humanitarian disaster areas and help out. They're not armed—their goal is to bring military efficiency and order to areas hit by disasters, and they're a non-profit, so they receive some government funding and also private donations. When I first heard about them I thought I'd like to join them when I mustered out, but I like your idea better. Humanitarian and one that will allow us to play soldier again occasionally." He grinned.

"But is Alex going to like the idea?"

"She does already. I already talked to her about it. We've discussed opening a little Cajun restaurant, and once it's on its feet and doing okay she can keep it running and I'll be able to get out once in a while and make sausage out of the bad guys."

Clayton laughed at that image. "I can just see you doing that. Al right, if I ever get this off the ground, you'll be the first one I call. After Shana and Snake Eyes—excuse me, Terence—and Cam and Charlie."

"They signed up for this too?" and in the next breath, Ettienne answered himself. "Of course they did. Shana wouldn't miss this for the world. You know, down under that cool collected exterior, she's just as hotheaded and impulsive as Courtney, she just has Terence to remind her not to do something stupid."

"Yeah. I know. I saw the look she'd give Court and Wayne some nights when they were going out to one of their eastside dives. Shana was just itching to go along, you could see it, and it was only the fact that Terence wouldn't go that kept her back." The two men shared a grin as they thought about their absent friends.

Clayton finally raised his beer bottle. "A toast. To friends, both here and absent."

Ettienne inclined his head, although his charming Cajun grin belied his grave demeanor. "To friends."


	7. Chapter 66: Storm Breaking

**Chapter 66: Storm Breaking**

The storm smashed into New York with unprecedented fury.

Allie and Dash never did get through watching whatever the movie was that Dash picked out. By two o'clock in the afternoon they had turned the movie off and replaced it with the news channel that had been on the smaller TV, and they were all staring soberly at the reports.

First was the weathermen reporting from various locations up and down the eastern seaboard—then then hurricane and tropical storm watches were cancelled for Florida and the rest of the southeast states. Clayton breathed a sigh as he saw the storm-tossed trees of the Carolina coast—he couldn't help but remember the night he and his SERE class had spent under the branches of the fallen tree, trying to keep warm and dry while Cam had been slipping in and out of a light coma, when the hurricane had struck the East Coast the previous summer. He was fervently glad that she was safe with Charlie in the Manhattan apartment—this storm might bring back bad memories for her, but she would be all right with Charlie by her side.

Then the storm crawled up the eastern seaboard, paralleling the coast, and they were treated to news video of weathermen in Ocean City Maryland being blown over by waves; huge waves crashing up sandy beaches, winds ripping shingles off roofs, shutters off windows, boards up off the boardwalk, signs being ripped from their signposts and being carried off by wind and waves.

But it wasn't until he saw a roller-coaster on the shoreline of Atlantic City, New Jersey, under what had to be over ten feet of water, that it hit him—this was going to be a complete catastrophe for New York City. By then the same realization had hit all of them, and they were all silent, watching as the storm crawled up the coast, then, despite all their prayers that it would indeed turn and go out to sea, by the middle of the afternoon it had made the sharp westerly turn that the weather forecast models had been predicting and made straight for southern New Jersey.

Baltimore City's transit system had been shut down hours ago, which at the time Clayton had thought a rather drastic move. But by the time New York followed suit and shut down their transit system, then shut down trading on Wall Street for the rest of that day and through Tuesday, he could only bless the foresight of the government official who had made that call. As the storm came ashore and the sky on the news grew dark with nightfall, he understood the wisdom of shutting the city down. There was simply nothing that one could do in the face of a storm this size, with this much fury behind it, except shut everything down, hunker down and wait out the storm.

"You know, I'm pretty sure this base is secure, but I'd like you all to take turns going down to check the lower levels for flooding. Can't be too careful," he told Dash, who nodded, and moments later, Allie had detailed Tunnel Rat, Stalker, and Recondo to periodically leave the rec level and go down to the last two levels of Joe Base to check.

At six o'clock Tunnel Rat came back to the rec room. "We got several inches of water down on level six and it's rising fast."

Duke blinked in disbelief. "How the hell is water getting into the base?"

"it's seeping in between the floor tiles. The ground's so saturated with the rain coming down and the storm surge coming in at high tide that it's overwhelming everything. The sump pump on the last maintenance level's shut down."

Clayton almost froze in disbelief—he couldn't imagine how a classified military base could be flooding—but there was no time to waste. "Dash, Allie. Grab six of the soldiers to go with you and start moving everything in those lower levels up to the administrative level. I don't care where you put it all—use the dojo, the gym, the girls workout room, hell, even the brig or my office if you have to but get everything moved out of the lower two levels. Wayne, Courtney, you two are the mechanical experts here, put together a team to figure out how to get the water out of the lower levels. Pump it, whatever you have to do. Go!" And off they went.

Their engineers and mechanically-minded people put their heads together, and soon Clayton was watching what looked like miles of emergency fire hose being dragged through the base halls down to the flooded lower levels. He didn't have time to watch, though; he simply trusted his people to do what they had to do and focused on helping those who weren't mechanics take everything from the two lower levels of the base up to admin levels.

"How's it going, soldier?" he asked her tiredly around nine o'clock as they finished emptying the lower two levels and were taking a breather as he considered emptying the residence level of the base.

"Doing okay, Hawk. I have a couple of fire hoses hooked up to a pump—it's pumping water from one end of the hose, which is under water," she indicated the end of the fire hose disappearing down the darkened stairwell, "up to the residence levels, where the other end is emptying down the drains in the locker room showers. Problem is we only have the one pump, and it's not pumping fast enough to keep up. I recommend you empty the residence level of the base, too. Get everyone to bring all their personal belongings up to the admin level or the motorpool."

"I'll see to it." And Hawk turned wearily to his team, and they bent to the task of emptying the residence levels, considerately taking care of the belongings of the mechanical team too. They'd just finished that operation at ten o'clock when the power went out all over the base.

This started another flurry of activity as the guys lugged one of the generators from the Rec room to the darkened hallway and worked feverishly by flashlight to connect the generator to the pump before the rising water overwhelmed them. "We've given up on keeping the lower levels clear of water, Clayton, now we're just focused on keeping it to a couple of inches on the residence level. It's starting to look like the fricking Titanic in here," Courtney ground out tersely to his tentative inquiry, and he decided, wisely, to simply leave her alone and let her get on with keeping it from creeping up to the recreation/mess and administrative levels—two and one, respectively. "The water's overwhelmed Staten Island's sewer systems, we can't pump the water down the locker room drains now—I'm having Brawler and Tunnel Rat put the end of the hoses outside the motorpool's air vents." The motorpool had vents in the wall that led outside so that fumes from gasoline and oil and whatever vehicle was being worked on at the moment could be safely vented outside; the ends of the fire hoses were pushed down those vents and water pumped outside.

At midnight Courtney's team finally took a break; their jerry-rigged pumping system seemed to be working for the time being and the water level, though not going down, was also not going up either. They'd reached an equilibrium, where they were pumping it out at the same rate it was coming in, and Courtney deemed it okay to take a rest. "Still have to monitor it and make sure the water doesn't start rushing back in," she said tiredly as she twisted the cap off a bottle of water, ignoring the grease and oil that smeared her hands and arms, "but it looks like we have it contained for now."

"Good work, soldier," Clayton said, then gestured across the rec room, where chairs in the makeshift 'theater' were now being pushed aside to make room for two exercise bikes. "What's all that?"

"Well, we don't have power to spare for the large TV, but at this point it's vital that we know what's going on and when we can expect it to be over. So I'm having three of the exercise bikes brought in, and we all can take turns pedaling and keep the small one on with kinetic energy." Despite her obvious fatigue, she grinned brightly at his look of astonished approval.

"Good thinking, Specialist Krieger," he said approvingly.

But the smile disappeared when the bikes were hooked up and Ettienne, Mainframe, and Jammer volunteered to be the first ones to take a turn on the bikes. The first thing they saw was what looked like a massive fire, homes burning, burning, all in a row, with the backdrop of waves behind them.

The news was grim. The community of Breezy Point, which had been one of the communities Clayton had considered while looking at finding a house for him and Liv, was fully engulfed in flames. It looked like the fire had started with one house, and then the high winds had spread burning debris to the next house, and the next, and the next...and so on.

And the cruelest trick was that these homes belonged to firefighters and cops, and those firefighters couldn't save their houses. Clayton saw them working futilely on a fire hydrant, supposed to provide water, but with power out all over the five boroughs, there was no water pressure to get water to the hoses.

And then Allie gave a soft gasp as the picture changed, and they stared in shocked silence as they watched teams of nurses scurry across the reporter's camera view. One of New York's largest hospitals had lost their generators and were now having to evacuate at the height of the storm. Patients were being carried on backboards down a narrow, cramped emergency stairway to the street, where they were then strapped into gurneys in ambulances and driven away. The wind whipped scrubs and blankets, one doctor's stethoscope blew away, but they kept working, grimly, and Clayton felt a surge of gladness when he saw other cars pull up outside the hospital and disgorge nurses and doctors, plainly from other hospitals, who had seen the evacuation and come to help out.

And then…the tiniest victims of the storm; the reporter's voice was hushed as the cameraman focused on the smallest bundles, coming out; babies, preterm infants, still attached to life support, with nurses handling respirator bags, more nurses juggling IV bags and other nameless pieces of equipment, and all of them huddled around these tiniest victims of the terrible storm, trying to keep them warm, protected from the winds that tore through the narrow concrete canyons of Manhattan's downtown district, and the rains that would soak blankets and snatch life from the babies these doctors and nurses were desperately trying to save.

"Oh…my…God…" Allie breathed, her eyes stinging with tears, and around him, Clayton saw many of his soldiers folding their hands, clasping fingers, as they prayed to whatever Deity they might believe in to spare those infants and keep them safe. He sent a prayer heavenward and watched with bated breath, and their prayers were apparently answered as one nurse climbed into an ambulance still carrying her precious burden, and a cheer went up from the assembled doctors and nurses and EMTs. "That must be the last one. Thank God, they can get them to safety now, and hopefully none of them suffer from this." Allie traded high-fives with Dash and Duke and a couple of the other Joes. There was as much celebration in the Joes' Rec room as there must have been outside that hospital.

Stalker came back to the Rec room with a satisfied grin. "Hey, Court, the water level's dropped in that stairway by a whole step. It's working, we're getting the water pumped out!" More cheering.

At about two in the morning exhaustion set in for all of them, and Clayton issued orders. "All right, we're not going to stay up all night, we're going to have a lot of work to do once the storm blows over. So let's split in three teams, we're going to sleep in shifts so we can keep an eye on the pumping system Courtney put together. "

Clayton took one team, Dash and Allie took another, and Duke took charge of the third (although Clayton made it clear that if it became necessary, they were to wake him up) and then they all headed for the mess hall. The long cafeteria-type tables folded up and stacked against one wall, and they opened out folding cots—when they'd been clearing out the lower levels Clayton had the folding cots taken to the mess hall instead of the administrative levels on the vague thought that they might want to take a nap on them, and he was glad of that foresight now as he stretched out on one.

Before he drifted off to sleep he tried to call Liv's cell phone, but got no answer. _She's probably sleeping, or the storm knocked out power to the cell towers. I'll wait till the storm passes before I call he_r. He knew that a few of his soldiers were also trying to make discreet calls to significant others off-base, but it didn't seem like anyone was getting through. "Any luck, Doc?" he asked as Doc stretched out on the cot next to him.

Doc shook his head, his brow creased with worry. "I tried calling Sherrie over at Staten Island University hospital to see how they're doing—last word I had from her was that she was going to stay at the hospital tonight in case she was needed—but I haven't been able to reach her on either her cell phone or the hospital main number."

"Well, we haven't seen reports of major damage to Staten Island, so I'm pretty sure she's okay," Clayton tried to be comforting, but Doc shook his head.

"We don't know that, Clayton. We're not going to know that until after the storm passes and we can get outside to look. Just because we haven't seen any news reports of damage here doesn't mean that none's happened. There were cameramen and news crews out in Queens because they're a seaside community and those crews got there before the storm hit. There are cameramen and news crews in Manhattan because it's…well…Manhattan. But Staten Island seldom gets the kind of coverage that the other four boroughs get, we're kind of an isolated little community here. And since we are an island and bridges are shut down coming in, Clayton, if something terrible is happening right now on the island, we're not going to know about it until the storm passes. If there were no news crews on Staten Island before the storm there sure won't be any coming now, and perhaps not for a while."

The truth of Doc's words hit Clayton like a ton of bricks. "But…if Staten Island is hit hard, how are emergency and rescue crews going to get in to help people?"

Doc sighed. "Clayton, they aren't. What's on this island now is what's going to be available for the next few days, maybe a week. Maybe longer if this turns into a major disaster. Considering what Queens, Long Island, and Lower Manhattan looks like right now on the news, Staten Islanders are going to have to deal until emergency crews get to us." He sighed as he stretched out on the cot. "After the storm passes and communication's established, depending on what things look like at Sherrie's hospital, I might want to go over there and volunteer to help."

"Just let me know. You're welcome to go. Just remember not to mention the base or that you're military."

Doc nodded, and Clayton left it at that—his soldiers knew that secrecy was essential, that they had to maintain the classified nature of Joe Base, and although plenty of his soldiers went off base for recreation and had significant others off-base (even before he made it officially okay), no problems had ever arisen with civilians knowing where they were. "Well, at least there's a FEMA center down at the tip of the island."

"Well, yeah, it's there, but it was in the evacuation zone, Clayton, so they evacuated. If the absolute worst-case scenario happens, there will be no government help, not for a while." Allie had come in and stretched out with a sigh on the cot beside Clayton's.

He stared at her. "You're kidding. Why would an emergency center close if they knew there was a potential emergency coming?"

"Because you don't want your personnel getting stuck in it," Allie chided gently. "And because they are expecting that they'll be able to just sweep in and reopen once the storm passes. Queens is in between Staten Island and the Atlantic Ocean, and I don't think anyone's expecting Staten Island to get hit hard. Also…Clayton, it's FEMA. They're civilians hired by Homeland Security. Pencil pushers, most of them. They don't have the same dedication to helping people and being on the front lines and being self-sacrificing, like we are. They don't get hired for that; ex-military hires get funneled into the Secret Service, ICE, Border Patrol and TSA." She thought. "Come to think of it, since FEMA is part of Homeland Security, and we all know what Homeland Security is like, chances are the DHS suits we met over Cam's detention and Shana's kidnapping later are a good example of the people that do work at those centers. And I don't even have to mention what TSA personnel are like." She made a face.

Clayton winced. The last time Allie and Dash had been on a civilian flight coming home from one of their classified missions, Dash had been pulled out of line by TSA people and nearly detained because he had gunpowder residue on his boots. TSA hadn't believed the two of them when they said they were active-duty serving US military, coming home from a confidential mission; it had taken a phone call to Clayton, who'd then called General Clancy, to get the two of them extricated from that mess, and Clancy hadn't been gracious about it…or very timely.

Allie grinned at his wince. "Yeah, still remember that, don't you? I swear Clancy didn't pick up the phone the first few times it rang just out of spite because he knew it was you." She shrugged at his chastising look. "Well, knowing what we know now about his wanting your command, it's not hard to think he might have been trying to undermine you by making us resent you for not getting us out of that mess. Yes, there was nothing you could do, they refused to even talk to you since you weren't the base commander at Fort Hamilton, per our cover story. But it's not stretching imagination much to think that if we were a regular, normal unit and you a regular, normal commander that some little bit of resentment might not have flared up in your second-in-command because you didn't get this resolved immediately. I know Dash would never think that, and Dash would have my hide if I so much as suggested it, but anyone who didn't know any of us well would find it a reasonable assumption."

"Sometimes I wonder if anything would be different if he had become head of the project."

"Uh- uh. Don't even think it." Allie turned over on the cot to face him. "Clayton, we've been your soldiers for so long, lived with you, worked with you, fought for and with you, that if anyone tried to take your place they'd have a hard time of it. We'd get used to them if it had to be permanent, and if the new commander was as fair as you are, but they'd still have a hard time. And Clancy? No, Clancy would never have had our respect. He would have had our obedience, but never our respect. We're your people, we'd follow you to hell and back, because we know you'd do the same for us. For any of us. In fact, you and Olivia went through hell to keep Alex safe. But Clancy would never do that, and that's the difference between him and you." She yawned widely. "Okay, enough talk. Sleep now. When we wake up it's going to be a lot of hard work getting the base back in order."


	8. Chapter 67: Birth

**Chapter 67: Birth**

"I take it back," Shana said, shaking her head. "I take it all back. Every word."

Sitting beside her on the couch, Cam grinned. "Hey, don't feel so bad. I guarantee you at least two-thirds of New York thought the same as you did…that it wasn't going to be this bad."

Olivia, sitting on Shana's other side, had her eyes glued to the TV screen. "I'll have to agree with Shana on this one, Cam. I owe Clayton an apology when this is over—I was grumbling and swearing while I was packing up Auggie's things to come here. I regret every word, I'm glad he told us to evacuate and I owe him an apology for everything I was thinking before we got here."

Cam sighed. "And I'm positive Clayton didn't even know this was going to be this bad. The weathermen were warning us but I don't think ANYONE thought it would be this bad." She watched as Olivia picked up the cell phone sitting in her lap, dialed a number, listened to it for a minute, then put it down. "No answer?"

Olivia shook her head. "No. None. Not that I was expecting one anyway—the storm hasn't made landfall yet but I guarantee communications are probably out all over the five boroughs. I'll keep trying but I don't think I'm going to hear from him until the storm's over." She sighed. "I hope he's okay."

"Oh, he's fine," Shana scoffed as she started trying to heave herself up off the couch. "He's the commander of a classified underground military base and he's a Major General. I guarantee he's fine except possibly for worrying about you and Auggie. Even though he knows you're in a high-rise apartment building and there's very little that could happen to you while here—and you have four of his soldiers around you to keep an eye on you." She looked down at her tummy ruefully and said, "Okay, three. I'm not much of a soldier right now, I can't even get up of this couch!"

Terence was beside her in a moment, looking inquiringly at her, then reached for her empty tea glass. "Thanks, sweetheart, yeah, if you could get me more I'd appreciate it." He nodded and disappeared with the cup, and she sank back into the couch with a sigh. "Thanks for making that tea, Cam. I don't know what you put in it, but it does seem to be helping settle my stomach."

"Considering she learned her skills from Jennifer Aiennatha, probably the same stuff that helped when I was pregnant with Auggie." At Cam's surprised look, Olivia smiled. "Yes, I went with Clayton to the reservation when he was looking for the paperwork to get you out of Homeland Security's detention. Jennifer made me a tea while I was up there that helped settle my stomach and she was also the one who told me that I shouldn't be drinking so much coffee while pregnant. When we left she gave me a whole jar of the herbal mixture and I practically lived on that for the rest of the pregnancy."

Cam giggled. "That sounds like Jennifer. But yes, she's the tribe's medicine woman and I'm the medicine woman in training, so what I know, I got from her."

"But what she gave me worked better than the prescription stuff that the doctor prescribed."

"I'll second that," Shana smiled. "I haven't touched the prescription stuff either. And the twins seem to settle while I'm drinking it too, so it's not just good for my stomach, it's good for my hips."

"They feel the warmth of the tea in your stomach and they're trying to shift closer to that warmth. It does take some of the weight from the front of your hip bones and redistribute it more towards the back of your pelvis, which has heavier bones and is therefore better able to handle the weight."

Olivia nodded wryly. "That's what Jenifer said too."

Cam grinned. "I learned from the best."

Charlie and Snake eyes had been flipping through channels, looking for news carried on other channels that might be more interesting than the current weatherman discussing what was happening further up the New England Coast. He returned to the local channel just in time to see a screen full of houses that were all ablaze—the scrolling headlines at the bottom of the screen said 'Queens' Police and Firefighters' Community of Breezy Point Burns'.

It took a moment for a shocked Olivia to find her voice. "That…that's one of the communities Clayton and I looked at when we first started house-hunting!"

"Isn't your old partner Elliot out there?' Shana leaned forward on the couch, staring at the TV, then winced, laid a hand on the side of her stomach and sat back. "Ouch."

Olivia barely noticed. "Yes, he's out in Queens but he's on the other end of the borough from Breezy Point. And so is Don." She breathed a sigh. "I know Fin and John are in Manhattan, and Amaro and Rollins are in Brooklyn and Manhattan respectively. Melinda and I are the only ones on Staten Island."

"I hope she's okay," Shana said worriedly as she put her glass of tea down and started trying to get herself up off the couch. "There's no news crews out on Staten Island, so we have no idea how they're doing. We'll have to wait until the storm's passed." She waved Terence's hand off. "Stop hovering, I can get off this couch myself. I just need to go to the bathroom, you don't have to watch over me every minute…" she stopped speaking and a grimace of pain—actual pain—crossed her face as she gasped aloud. "Oh. Ow…."

And the legs of her knit maternity pants suddenly acquired a dark stain.

"Shana!" Cam gasped as she jumped up off the floor where she'd been sitting, just as Terence's lips shaped Shana's name as he took her arm; her legs suddenly didn't seem to want to hold her up anymore, and Charlie quickly moved to her other side to help support her.

"I…I think my water just broke," Shana gasped, her face going pale as she looked up, stricken. "This is impossible. I can't have the twins here, I wanted them born in a hospital with doctors and nurses and plenty of drugs!" And then she doubled over, hands going to her belly. "Oh…owww…"

Cam shook her head. "They apparently decided differently. As I said, if you want to make the gods laugh, tell them your plans." She sighed. "Okay. Charlie, Terence, take her to the bedroom. Liv, where are the towels? If we put towels on the bed it'll be easier to change than sheets."

Shana stared. "Cam…"

"Shana, I am a medicine woman of my tribe. I've helped Jennifer deliver babies before. Doc said you were healthy and he didn't anticipate any problems, certainly none like what Liv went through after Auggie's birth. And there's not much you can do, those babies are coming and they aren't going to take no for an answer."

"It's too early!" Shana wailed, but it was a resigned complaint; even she realized the inevitability. And then she doubled over and groaned as a contraction hit her, and everyone saw the ripple traveling across her swollen belly.

"Get her into bed. Now." Cam's firm tone brooked no argument, and Charlie moved to comply…then paused as he realized Terence hadn't moved. "Um…Terence?" Cam said uncertainly.

Terence seemed frozen, staring down at his own stomach. "Hey. Snap out of it. Terence…" and she was interrupted by Shana's groaned, hissing pant. And to her surprise, Shana's expression was mirrored on Terence's face.

"Their bond!" Cam exclaimed half exasperated, half-amused. "Dear Goddess, don't tell me I'm going to have two patients going through birth pains…"

Charlie stepped over to Terence, grabbed one arm, shook it firmly. "Lock it down. Block your bond from your mind, just for now. Come on, lock it down!"

And a couple of moments later Terence blinked and shook his head, the blankly horrified look on his face turning into one of shamefaced realization. _I never knew…I swear I'll never touch her again, how can you women want kids when it hurts this much? I would never ever want to go through this._

Cam giggled as she took Shana's other arm. "Well, I guess that answers that question," she laughed as she and Charlie steered Shana down the hallway toward the second bedroom, Liv following closely behind after grabbing an armful of towels from the hall closet.

"What question?" Olivia said as she laid towels down on the bed and Cam and Charlie lowered Shana down onto it.

"The birth control debate. Jennifer and I swore once to Chief Andy that if men were the gender that had babies, there'd be birth control pills handed out like candy. He swore that men weren't such babies about pain."

Olivia started to laugh as she twitched a sheet over Shana's lower half and Shana started squirming out of her maternity pants under it. "Yeah, I've run across that myself. And I agree with you wholeheartedly. The human race would go extinct if it were up to men to have kids." She sobered. "And there would be a lot stiffer penalties for those who rape if they could experience what we felt when we went through it." Cam nodded back at her, eyes haunted.

Shana groaned again, her hands clutching the bedsheet under her convulsively, and Cam lifted the end of the sheet to peek underneath. "You've still got a long way to go, Shana. Just lie back and relax. Try not to fight the pain, it will hurt worse. Just let it happen." She turned to Liv. "Can you boil and sterilize a pair of sharp scissors and some thread to tie the umbilical cords off after they get here?" she asked, and Olivia hurried off to the kitchen.

Cam put her hands on her hips. "Okay, Terence, instead of just standing there looking like you've seen death, sit down at the top of the bed and hold Shana's hands. She'll need something to squeeze when the pain starts getting bad. And eventually I'll want her to sit semi-upright so gravity will help get the babies out, and she can lean against you when she does that." Terence gingerly scooted closer to the bed, and Shana obligingly leaned over a bit so he could sit with one arm around one shoulder and his knee under her hand.

"Good. Now that you're settled, let me have a word with you. Shana's not going to be able to think to close off her end of that bond you two have, so Terence, you're going to have to lock that bond down. If you freeze like that at a little contraction like this, Goddess only knows how you'll react once she's actively pushing. I can't deal with that—I won't deal with that. I will hit you over the head with a frying pan to knock you out if I have to, don't think I won't." Shana giggled a little hysterically, and Terence finally cracked a smile even though he still looked worried. "Good. Keep your sense of humor intact, okay? And I promise, when the twins get here it'll all be worth it."

They switched the TV on in the bedroom and stuck a movie into the DVD player—Cam didn't want Shana to potentially get upset over whatever might be happening in New York at the moment, and also didn't want her to possibly get upset and start worrying if the news happened to show something bad out on Staten Island. She also didn't want Liv to worry either. Auggie seemed to want to behave; soon after they got Shana settled in bed he dropped off to sleep too, and when the power went out an hour after Liv put him down in the playpen to sleep, he didn't even wake up.

By midnight Shana was groaning almost constantly, and her labor was progressing well (as Cam told them.) She was dilating steadily, the pain wasn't too much for her to handle, Terence hadn't let his control over his half of their bond slip, and Cam had learned that Liv wasn't inexperienced at delivering babies. "It was Elliot's last child. Kathy had a prenatal appointment scheduled, and then he forgot, so I went out to pick them up from the house and take her out. We were crossing an intersection—I had the green light, I remember that clearly—when another vehicle crashed into us from the front passenger side. I remember the world spinning for a moment, and everything went black.

"I must have only been out for a couple of moments, because when I woke up Kathy was still beside me, still unconscious, and an ambulance came up shortly thereafter. I managed to climb out of the driver's side window, but Kathy was pinned—the passenger door on the sedan had crumpled inward and pinned her. And then she screamed that her water broke, and the EMT couldn't reach her…so I climbed back into the car and helped them strap a crash collar around her neck and they cut the car open, but she was in labor by then…" she shook her head. "Looking back now it seems like it happened really, really quickly, but at the time it seemed like it wasn't happening nearly quick enough. It felt like an eternity before they got her out, and by then she was well into labor. By the time they had her flat on her back on the gurney in the ambulance Eli's head was crowning, and then suddenly he just…came out. And then Kathy crashed, and the EMT just handed Eli to me while they got to work on Kathy…"

Her voice trailed off as Shana panted her way through another contraction, then resumed when Shana lay back after the pain eased. "But they got her stabilized and him into an incubator when we got to the hospital, and they're both okay now so." She shrugged. "But it was amazing, seeing the little guy being born." She smiled ruefully. "I just never realized giving birth was so hard until I had Auggie. Doc gave me pain meds, and I was pushing, and then suddenly it felt like something tore inside me and I got lightheaded and dizzy, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up and seeing Shana holding Auggie. I had no idea how much time passed until a couple days later." She smiled. "I never got a chance to thank you for taking care of him while I was…unable to."

"No thanks needed, " Shana said after the next contraction eased and she could relax a little. "We were happy to do it for you and for Clayton. He was completely lost without you, couldn't focus, couldn't think, nothing."

But as labor progressed, Shana was less and less able to talk, as the pain increased. There was nothing that Cam could do except keep an eye on her progress, call encouragement to her, and try to distract her between contractions; nothing that Terence could do but hold her hand, let her squeeze when she was feeling pain, and wipe her sweating forehead with a damp washcloth when the pain let go and she slumped against him. Both of them were dripping sweat and panting, and Cam thought, amusedly, that they were both going to need a nap when this was over. _I'll need a nap when this is over_, she thought, then pushed that aside in favor of dealing with the here-and-now.

Two hours later the contractions were almost continuous, and Shana was trying to fight the urge to push. "Don't fight it, Shana," Cam said as she sat down on a low stool at the end of the bed and signaled Terence to try and scoot Shana closer to the end of the bed. "Your body knows what's happening, knows what it's supposed to do. Just let it happen. The more you fight it, the longer this is going to take and if you get too tired you won't have the energy to push and then we'll all be in trouble." Shana was tired, but she wasn't exhausted…yet. And Cam was hoping she wouldn't get to that point. The more energy Shana expended fighting her own body the worse the actual delivery was going to be on the twins.

Shana listened…and when Cam finally decided she'd dilated enough and should start pushing, her friend sat up, braced her back against Terence's, sitting behind her, and started. As each contraction took hold of her, she pushed, first panting with effort, then groaning, and then suddenly she was screaming, and there was no time at all between contractions, she was crying with the constant pressure and pain and Terence himself looked close to passing out, and then Cam cried out in triumph and reached under the sheet, and a tiny, squalling red-faced baby howled her anger at being thus forced out into the world. One last push, and the placenta was expelled, and Cam quickly handed the little baby girl to Olivia and Charlie. Charlie was a medicine man of his tribe, and although birthing babies was traditionally a woman's work and a medicine man wouldn't get involved, in this case Charlie had to give Liv instructions on how to tie off the umbilical cord, then snip it. Liv also had a large plastic tub of warm water waiting, and they quickly cleaned off the baby girl—Erin—and got one of the newborn diapers on her (Liv blessed her foresight in bringing those two boxes of diapers with her) and wrapped her in a blanket. Charlie then held her as Liv got ready for the next one.

And exactly five minutes later, another red-faced howling baby announced his presence to the world. Evan. Liv knew what to do, and Charlie didn't have to give her instructions; he just kept holding Erin as Liv tied off and snipped the umbilical cord, then cleaned him up, wrapped a diaper around Evan's little bottom and a blanket around his body. By that time Cam had quickly, efficiently changed the towels under Shana's hips, and Terence helped move his exhausted wife up the bed, to lie back on the pillows; and once comfortable, they laid the two little bundles in her arms. "Evan," Shana said, tiredly but with maternal pride as she looked down at the little blue-wrapped bundle. "Evan Patrick O'Hara."

"Good strong Irish name," Cam said with a tired smile as she used a suction bulb to clear mucous from Evan's ears and nose. He gave a tiny little sneeze but seemed disinclined to protest much. "Look at his hair, I think he's going to have your hair." The drying fuzz on the tiny baby skull was definitely ginger.

"They're both going to have mine," Shana said with a soft giggle as she touched the top of Erin's head. There was a bit more hair here than on Evan's head, and these little wispy curls were strawberry blond. "Erin Cameron O'Hara."

"Shana!" Cam kept her voice low so as not to startle the two sleeping babies, but her surprise was evident. "You can't name her after me!"

"Why not?" Shana smiled at her. "You helped deliver her. And you're my best friend."

"But…Allie…"

"I love Allie. I really do. But our friendship is deeper than mine and hers, and she knows it, and she'll be the last one to argue."

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

"Nope. But if you really object I'll name her Erin Cameron Allison O'Hara. Either way, though, she's still going to have your name."

Cam smiled. "Then in that case, I'd be honored to have her named after me."

Shana smiled, then spoiled it with a huge yawn, "Good. That's settled."

"Here," Cam took Erin from Shana as Olivia scooped up Evan. "You get some rest, we'll give them both a bottle and feed them. Both you and Terence look like you're exhausted." Both Shana and Terence nodded vigorously, and Charlie, Cam, and Liv laughed as they left the bedroom.

Outside in the hall, Liv pointed to her bedroom. "Give me Evan, Cam. You need to get some sleep too."

"Ordinarily I'd argue with you, but right now I'm too tired. And you're the infant-raising expert, I just deliver them." Cam grinned. "So yes, I'll take your advice. But wake me if anything seems wrong with the babies."


	9. Chapter 68: Aftermath

**Chapter 69: Aftermath**

"All right, I think that's got it."

Clayton surveyed the clean hallway floor of Joe Base's sixth level with satisfaction. Although the last two levels of base had seemed like a hopeless mess when the water had receded enough for them to come down, everyone on base had pitched in to help. Courtney and the engineering crew had rigged a second pump and more fire hose, and the water had emptied a lot faster than he thought it would. Two teams armed with mops and buckets had made short work of what was left on the floor, and while they would have to wait a little longer for the floors on the residence level to dry, he estimated that they'd be able to sleep in their beds by that evening.

"Can we get out the motorpool doors?" he asked Courtney—she'd been running up to the motorpool level at intervals to make sure water was being pumped out of the end of the fire hose the way it was supposed to—and since their base didn't have power and he couldn't look at the security cameras to see what things looked like outside, Courtney was the best source of information for now.

Courtney hesitated. "We can…but it's pretty bad out there."

"What do you mean, 'bad'?" he asked, blinking in startlement.

"It's bad," Courtney just repeated. "Go on outside and see for yourself."

He turned and headed for the stairs—with the elevators out, they were jogging up and down stairs—and ran into Dash, Allie and Conrad coming down. "I want to go outside and have a look," he said shortly, and without a word, they turned and flanked him, heading up the stairs.

He spent a couple of minutes just staring blankly when they got the door to the Joes' garage open. It was the only reaction one could have to the sight of a large motorboat tucked between two of the SUVs belonging to the Fort Wadsworth Chaplains' School, so neatly that there wasn't a scratch on either of the vehicles or the motorboat.

"The water was this high? Wow. We were lucky it didn't come in the motorpool doors and flood the admin level." Allie was impressed.

Conrad was less impressed. "Come on. If we get up to the lighthouse we should have a pretty good view of this end of the Island and be able to see what kind of damage might have been done. I have a sneaking suspicion that drifting boats are the least of everyone's worries."

And as they emerged from the stairs at the top of the lighthouse it was immediately clear to all of them that Conrad was right. And Clayton was forcibly reminded of the conversation he'd had with Doc and Allie the night before—if there weren't any news crews on Staten Island before the storm, there wouldn't be any afterward, and in a worst-case scenario it would take days for help to reach the Island.

From the top of the Verrazano Narrows lighthouse the damage was all too clear. Staten Island had been hit, hard. Building debris—shingles from roofs, wooden beams, shutters, plywood, and lots and lots of siding were scattered everywhere, and he silently thanked God that he'd asked Liv to evacuate—and that she'd chosen to listen to him. He would be going nuts right now if she hadn't. As it was, he was a little worried about the house but not nearly as much as he would be if Liv and Auggie had been in it.

The wind was still blowing, though not the hurricane-force winds that had been prevalent during the height of the storm. There was still rain, but in comparison to the downpour at the height of the hurricane, this was nothing but a simple rainshower. Far down at the tip of the island, he could see the waters of the bay and river, but it was much further up than it should have been—indicating that floodwaters hadn't receded yet. Power lines and poles were down all over the place.

"Good God," Conrad finally breathed. "It looks like the end of the world down here." And as if in answer, they saw a group of people wrapped up in jackets against the remainder of the wind and rain, carrying backpacks, heading…somewhere.

"The bridges are shut down, and the governor said the only vehicles allowed on the streets are emergency personnel," Courtney said from behind them as she climbed the last few steps out of the stairwell and joined them at the top of the lighthouse, with Doc beside her. "Damnit, if FEMA hadn't closed there might be somewhere for these people to go. As it is, there won't be help out here for days."

Down at the end of the street, a woman stepped out of a narrow alley that looked half-flooded. As the Joes watched, she started to walk up the street toward the lighthouse, dragging a suitcase on wheels behind her, a tiny dog under one arm. She seemed to be struggling, and as her shoes slipped in the mud, the hood of her jacket fell back and they saw a flash of silver hair.

Doc was gone in an instant, reappearing at the foot of the lighthouse moments later. In silence the Joes watched him cross the Chaplains' School parking lot, running to intercept the elderly woman and help her get to her feet in the mud on the road There was an exchange of words that none of them could hear, and then Doc started walking with the woman, taking her suitcase with her, heading in what Clayton guessed was the general direction of Staten Island University Hospital.

"Come on," Courtney said, tugging his sleeve. "Clayton, remember our base isn't officially here, and if we're seen up here at the top of the lighthouse it could blow our cover. Lucky Doc was wearing civvies, that old lady won't make him for US military."

_But these people need help. And there's no authority here on the island._ Clayton knew they had to maintain the confidentiality of the base, but the devastation was hard to ignore—as were the small huddled knots of people he could now see starting to move around the flooded streets. If he squinted, he could see the low, squat building that represented the FEMA center at the end of Father Capodano Boulevard, but he knew that those who might be able to make it there looking for help were going to find the building shuttered and closed, help unavailable.

_We have generators. And cases and cases of MRE's. We have medical supplies and medical personnel, and people trained to work in teams on search and rescue. We have what these people need…but we can't offer that because of policy._

He struggled with that knowledge for the next hour, as his soldiers moved their belongings from the admin level offices back to their quarters, as the engineering crew finished pumping water out of the lowest levels of Joe Base and coiled up the fire hose and tucked the generators. They were busy folding up the cots that had been set up in the mess hall for the shifts to sleep when Doc came back, and everyone in the mess hall gathered around to hear his report. "Power is out all over the island. Staten Island University Hospital is allowing the elderly and sick to sleep on hospital beds, and they're trying to do what they can to feed the people they can, but their generators are strained. There were three flood zones on the island's coasts—as Liv put it, likely, less likely, and least likely—but due to the incredibly unfortunate coincidence that landfall coincided with high tide and full moon, flooding and devastation has come well up past the least-likely zone. I'm pretty sure yours and Liv's house is completely flooded, and I'm glad she evacuated." He paused, then said soberly, "Before the storm. There was a report—a woman living outside the evacuation zone tried to drive out when her house flooded, and the floodwaters stalled her car engine, then swept her two children—toddlers—out of the car. No one knows where they are now."

Silence. And in that silence, Clayton made a decision.

"Allie, can you have all the Joes meet me in the mess hall. It's big enough for all of us, and the generators will light it up well enough for all of us to see. I want every Joe on base there. This is a mandatory meeting." Allie hurried off without asking questions, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He went to his quarters and stripped off his uniform, hanging it carefully in the closet by the light of the flashlight each Joe was now carrying with them. _This could be the last time I wear this. But my career be damned, these people need help and although General Abernathy can't get involved, Clayton Abernathy can. I know I'll likely lose my career over this—it's practically disobeying a direct_ _order—but I can't stand back and watch innocent people suffer from this storm while I have any power at all to help make anything any better for them._

He put on boots and carefully checked to make sure all signs of insignia and rank were removed from everything he was wearing before he left his quarters. Word seemed to have spread like wildfire—or Allie had enlisted the aid of others to help get his request for a mandatory meeting out to the other residents of the base; at any rate, he found all of his soldiers assembled, all the seats filled.

He cleared his throat as he took a position in front of the podium in front of them. Fellow soldiers, all of them. Friends, many. All of them handpicked by him for this project, all of them brothers in arms, and what he was about to do was going to break those bonds of soldier and commander, possibly permanently. But there was no help for it—he had to do what his conscience was telling him to do. He hoped they would understand.

"Good afternoon, all of you," he said by way of preamble, letting his eye rove over the assembled soldiers, making eye contact with each one in turn. "I'm glad to see we've all gotten through this storm in one piece." A ripple of amusement among the Joes.

"But unfortunately, I can't say the same for the people outside this base, those who also live on Staten Island. I went up to the Verrazano Narrows lighthouse early this afternoon to look at the devastation wrought by the storm and I have to say that from the observation deck of the lighthouse it looks pretty complete. Houses are leveled. Boats have been flung about on the streets like childrens' bath toys; there is destruction everywhere, and as we are all aware, the roads and bridges coming into and out of Staten Island are closed now to all but emergency traffic—and we all know that there will be no heavy emergency vehicles coming over the bridges into Staten Island until they are inspected by civil engineers and deemed safe.

"I have been your commander for nearly ten years now; head of this project, and I have tried to serve your interests as you have served the United States o f America. However, our orders are clear; we are not to make our presence known on this island, we are not to betray our location, and while I have never had a problem avoiding situations in which this might become an issue in the past, it is simply not possible to do so now.

"I look at those people wandering around out there, people who have lost everything—homes, livelihoods, possessions, everything—and I cannot, in good conscience, leave them out there to possibly lose their lives from cold, hunger, exhaustion. I am going to go out there, to do what I can to help. I don't know what I can do at the moment, but I will do what I can, and I wanted to inform all of you that this was my decision. And to tell you…" his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. "As a result of this decision someone may find out that there is a secret military base on this island. I will do my best to hide such knowledge, but it may be figured out—and if it is, I will be tried and court-martialed for disobeying a direct order not to reveal our location. I am hereby stepping down as your commander in case this does happen—I'm leaving Flint in charge, and he'll make sure things run smoothly. I just wanted you all to know…it has been my greatest pleasure serving with you, and you are the best bunch of soldiers it has ever been my privilege to command, and I would ask that you serve under your next commander with as much honor, integrity and honesty as you have shown me." And he stopped speaking.

"All right." Flint rose from his seat. "Duke, I'm leaving you in charge of the base. Wild Bill, BeachHead, I want each of you to take a couple of soldiers to the storage levels. Grab as many cases of MREs as you can pack into my car; the same with blankets, water purification tablets, flashlights, batteries. Get all of that packed into personal vehicles, then put on civilian clothing and make sure any indication of rank and affiliation is removed—"

"Hold on. Just what is going on here?" Clayton finally recovered enough presence of mind to ask Flint.

From Flint's other side, Lady Jaye gave him a wide smile. "Think you're the only one who can make command decisions?"

"This-this isn't a command decision. My God…you're throwing your career away for me—"

Lady Jaye—no, Allie, since he'd just noticed she was in civilian clothes—grinned. "Don't be stupid, Clayton, of course we're not throwing our careers away just for you. Why do you think this is all about you?" She sobered. "I had a feeling this was what you were thinking—going out there and throwing your commission away because you feel the need to help these people out here. You're not the only one, we feel that same need too. Everything is in chaos out there right now, there is no authority, and people who have lost everything need that authority, the feeling that they aren't alone and someone sympathizes and wants to help. We are the closest source of that, there will be no one else for what might be a very long time, and we have a responsibility to help not only foreign allies in the conflict zones to which we are sent, but we also have a responsibility to our own people. We would be poor soldiers if we didn't feel the need to help—and none of us would be here if we were poor soldiers. You don't pick poor soldiers."

"But…but…"

Allie rolled her eyes. "Clayton. Stop overanalyzing, okay? Dash and I started thinking about this when we went up to the top of the lighthouse with you this afternoon—Dash was all ready to tell you he and I were going out—but there's been more than a handful of personnel who are determined to go out there with us. Dash even constructed a cover story—remember the discussion we had before the storm, about former military personnel being members of the private recovery organization Team Rubicon? We were going to use that—say we were here on Staten Island visiting a friend when the storm hit and we're members of the team. No one's going to question our use of military organization to get things in order, and we can use our codenames without anyone raising an eyebrow."

It all made sense. Clayton felt a weight lift off his chest—somewhat. "I heard Dash say to get two teams together—how many of the base's personnel are actually going out there with us?"

Allie couldn't quite hide her smile. "If every person on this base followed their own inclination, Clayton, everyone would be going with us. But someone has to stay here, so Dash ordered Duke to stay. He wasn't really happy with that." Clayton could well imagine. "He'll be kept company by a skeleton crew, mostly communications and tech experts—there's little they can do out there right now with power lines and communications infrastructure down. And if we all do get in trouble for this—there will still be someone in command who can take over the base. So altogether, I'd say about twenty people will be leaving with us. They're loading as many MREs and other supplies as we can manage into personal vehicles—we can't take military vehicles, more's the pity—and medical supplies. Doc said the FEMA center is flooded and we won't be able to set up there…but we can claim the supplies were in the storage rooms and closets at the FEMA center to explain where they came from."

"You've thought of everything." Clayton felt slightly dazed by how efficiently—and quietly—these plans had been made without his being aware of them. So much for his being 'Hawk'. "Do we have any idea where we're going to establish a forward operations base?"

"There's a school about four blocks away from the FEMA center that just missed flooding. Doc figured that would be a good place to set up. Cafeteria can be set up to pass out MREs, blankets and chairs in the auditorium and gym for those who need somewhere to stay; classrooms can be used to house those in need of medical care."

Something occurred to him. "The SVU's medical examiner Melinda Warner is out here on Staten Island. Think we can find her and get her to come help?"

"Doc stopped at her place on the way back—apparently he knew where she lived because he'd consulted with her extensively on Cam's condition, and they got to being friends. Her house is dark, but didn't get flooded or damaged, and he says she said she'd be perfectly willing to come and help triage those who need medical care, and her husband doesn't mind staying with their kids."

Was there anything his soldiers hadn't thought of? "Is there anything you haven't thought of?" he asked Allie as they headed for the motorpool, with soldiers rushing past him carrying boxes and cases of…whatever.

"Um…we hadn't thought that you'd want to come with us. We thought you'd be 'By The Book' Abernathy, not wanting to come with us, and that you'd be upset when you heard that we wanted to go out and help. We thought you'd got wind of our little plan and was calling us into a meeting to shut us down—it didn't occur to any of us that you'd want to go out there and help the people too."

"And what would you have done if I had said that I heard your plan and was upset with you and going to charge all of you with violation of orders?"

Allie stopped walking and faced him squarely. "First off, Clayton, it wouldn't have been violation of orders. You have not specifically told us we could not go out and help the people after the storm, and as duty has been suspended for the duration of the emergency, it wouldn't be dereliction of duty either. What we were planning to do would have been on our own time, we were—are—going in civilian clothes, and had a cover story in place to explain who we were and where we'd gotten the supplies that we were using. So as much as you would have hated, it, Clayton, there actually wasn't much that you could have done to prevent us, and we were not doing anything wrong."

Clayton sighed. "Think I'll be able to get that past Lieutenant General Johnson?"

"I don't know," Allie looked thoughtful. "I could get away with this, I'm a Staff Sergeant. Dash could still be in trouble for insubordination, since he's a Warrant Officer, but it's not going to hurt his career too much—not that it would, we'd been planning on mustering out, like I said before. But you…you're a Major General, and an insubordination charge, especially for this, could end your career."

Several years ago—actually, as recently as a year ago, the thought would have filled him with panic. What would he do outside of the military? It had been such a huge part of his life for so long that life without the regimented rules of drills, administrative duties, mission commands, and daily minutiae was…unthinkable.

But that was before Liv, and Auggie, and suddenly he could see past his discharge, see past the military life to think about what possibilities lay beyond it. Waking up every morning next to Olivia; taking Auggie to school, parent teacher conferences, taking his son to ball games, and going fishing, and all the other stuff he'd always wanted to do with a son—suddenly leaving the military wasn't the end of the world, but the beginning of another one.

"I'm willing to risk discharge to help these people. Come on, let's get going."


	10. Chapter 70: Mobilization

**Chapter 70: Mobilization**

The motley assortment of vehicles wound their way slowly through the debris-strewn streets, careful to avoid passing close to large piles of debris or anything that looked like it might topple and take one of their cars out. Allie, sitting in the passenger side of Dash's vehicle, leaned out of the window, calling to people as they passed. "We're members of Team Rubicon. We're here to help. Don't go to the FEMA center, it's flooded and closed—we're setting up at the school. Grab what you can and come to the school." She doubted that most of the people she spoke to understood even half of what she said; she got blank looks at 'Team Rubicon'. But that was okay—they understood 'FEMA center is closed' and 'come to the school', and word of mouth would travel.

The lock on the front door of the high school was an easy one to pick, for a team of black-ops trained soldiers, and they were inside in no time at all. The school was quiet, but clean, the building was undamaged, and fortunately the windows high in the walls of the gym let in plenty of light. Hawk nodded in satisfaction, then turned to his team.

"All right, here's how we're going to do this. I want three people to each grab a desk out of one of the classrooms, set it up at the front door. As people come in, write their names and addresses down, then ask them if they have any relatives they are worried about and/or haven't heard from. Check each others' lists to see if the missing person has come here; if they haven't, write them down on a separate list so we can send out search and rescue teams to check those addresses for these people. Make sure to note whether the person named is a child or elderly or has medical issues—we want to make those a priority in S-&-R efforts.

"I want four of you to start unloading those cases of MREs from the cars and take them to the cafeteria. Set up some kind of system for passing those out, I'll leave that detail up to you. See what the school kitchen has in the way of foodstuffs and try to put together a hot meal.

"Doc, Lifeline, I want you two to find the largest empty classroom on this floor. Let me know where it is, then move all the desks and chairs out to make room if we have wounded who need to lie flat. Cover Girl, Stretcher, I want you two to take over triageof the people coming in with medical complaints—if they are in need of medical attention, send them to Doc, okay? Not for bumps and bruises, but those who are bleeding or seriously wounded. As soon as Melinda Warner gets here—she is coming, right Doc?" at the man's nod, Clayton continued. "As soon as Melinda gets here I'll have her take over triage from Stretcher and he'll join Doc and Lifeline in the 'infirmary'.

"I also want a team of at least six to head out on your vehicles. Hit the FEMA center, see if there are any supplies stored there that we could possibly use; foodstuffs, blankets, medical supplies, generators, anything. Check any other government buildings—clinics, whatever—you might see on the way that could possibly hold anything that could be used in this emergency. Do not hit stores and local businesses yet—those will be our last option if help doesn't get here in a timely fashion.

"Lady Jaye, grab a couple of people and find a place where our soldiers can bunk down apart from the rest of the people. There should be a teachers' lounge or something somewhere around here; see if you can find one, empty any candy or vending machines you might find and add those to the store of supplies. Pull the folding bleachers out from the wall in the auditorium so people have a place to sit, there should still be plenty of space for those who want to lie down to spread out blankets.

"Now, before we head out to our respective tasks, I want to remind all of you of two things. One: we are members of Team Rubicon, that is the official story we'll put out to anyone who asks. Two: Use code names, not real names, for the duration of this emergency. We have to maintain plausible deniability and the secrecy of our classified base; avoiding using real names will cut down on the chances of someone figuring out who we really are. Three: while most of the people we expect to come in are genuinely going to be tired, hungry, and in need of help, there will be some who are going to be cross, irritable, or just plain rude and angry. Defuse conflict wherever possible; use non-violent conflict resolution techniques. You are all carrying weapons, but I do not want to see those unless the troublemaker escalates violence and it becomes necessary. _Under no circumstances_ are you to use deadly force! Use the absolute minimum of force necessary to defuse the situation and return order. Now head on out, and let's hope Luck is with us."

The 'receiving team', as Allie called the three who would man the front desks, were set up the quickest; they armed themselves with sheets of paper from the school office copier and pens snatched from the secretary's desk. Satisfied, she drifted back toward the cafeteria, and smelled something that made her mouth water—pizza.

"Found the kitchen well-stocked for school meals, but much of it is frozen items that will spoil if thawed and left too long. And with power out to the freezer now…we decided to cook as many and as much of the perishables as we could before they go bad, and save the MREs for when there aren't any other alternatives. Fortunately for us, the kitchen is gas-equipped and the gas lines are still working, even if the electricity isn't."

"Good thinking," Allie said approvingly, and the food prep tech smiled. "We're going to make it clear to the people that we're in the same boat they are, so you'll see our people eating in here along with the civilians. However, I want you to make sure everyone gets equal portions—no one gets any more than anyone else, because we have to make sure there's enough for everyone if we're stuck without help for longer than we expect…as it looks likely right now. Our people know that, but I expect some of the people who come in will want as much as they can get and might get a little cranky when they don't get it, so our people are going to be on the watch for anyone getting rowdy or pushy."

And although her mouth watered at the pizza, she restricted herself to one piece plus a generous helping of the applesauce and French fries. Best to eat now before the people started to trickle in, and she was glad of that decision when she walked out of the cafeteria ten minutes later to see a woman standing there at the receiving desk carrying a baby and trailing two children, one a toddler, maybe three years old, and the other, a slightly older child about maybe six. She gave her name as Cynthia, the children as Michael, Jai, and the baby was a girl, Danae. The children looked hungry and tired, and the baby was plainly cranky, so as soon as Jammer finished logging their names in, Allie gave them a warm, sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you're hungry and tired and want something to eat. The cafeteria is staffed with our people and they have some hot food prepared, so I recommend you slip on back and grab something to eat, then head on into the gym. Do you have any injuries that need tending? No? Well, enjoy the food, then." She smiled as they headed toward the cafeteria—Jai and Michael moving considerably faster than they had coming in.

Over the next two hours their numbers swelled—first slowly, then as word of mouth traveled that here was shelter, food, and medicine, more and more people came. The shared misery broke down the walls that usually existed between classes and races, and Allie grinned to herself when she saw a tall man in an immaculate suit drape his expensive overcoat over the thin shoulders of a shivering young woman in threadbare jeans and a thin jacket. An older gray-haired lady was sitting next to a young woman juggling twins, holding a blanket up so the woman could change one of the twins' diapers and giving her motherly, maternal advice.

The stories were mostly the same—the storm, and water flooding the house, until the families decided they had to leave. And headed for higher ground, having nowhere to go but knowing they had to move. There was despair and fatigue in many of those faces, those eyes…Allie understood it in the adults, but it was hardest to see confusion and bewilderment in the eyes of the children. Their worlds had come to an abrupt end, and they had no idea what to do now.

But the pizza in the cafeteria seemed to lift their spirits, and as more and more people trickled in, they started finding friends they knew, and even making some they didn't. Children were pretty resilient, and little could keep their spirits down for long. Their parents, too, seemed to find solace n being able to talk about what happened; before long, relaxed groups of adults were offset by laughing boisterous groups of children.

"You know, that many kids running around are going to get into mischief," she heard Dash say as he and Clayton came up behind her. "Think we can find something for them to do?"

Inspiration hit her, and she smiled. "I think we can take care of that." She'd heard a couple of the Joes who'd helped Doc find the largest classroom on this floor and set that up as a makeshift infirmary say that they'd passed what had obviously been a couple of kindergarten classrooms further down the hall, and that was a perfect opportunity to get some of the older kids—the ones in that awkward stage of not-quite-adult-but-not-quite-kids-anymore—involve d. They looked lost, unsure what to do, and she mustered a friendly smile as she walked up to a group of them standing against the gym wall trying to look 'cool' but only succeeding in looking bored. "I need a couple of extra hands. Anyone want to volunteer?"

"Sure," one kid said, shrugging, and a handful of minutes later the whole group of six kids was following Aliie down the hall. "What are we doing?"

"We need to find something for those little kids to do or they'll be driving us all crazy in a very short time," Allie said, and the kid grinned and nodded. "I see you have experience with that."

The kid blushed. "My twin brother and sister are six. They're two of those 'little kids' you were talking about running around in the gym."

Allie laughed. "So you know exactly what I'm talking about." The kid nodded. "Should I give your parents my congratulations or condolences?"

He shrugged. "It's just me and Mom. Dad left a year ago and filed for divorce."

Allie clapped a hand on his shoulder. "So I guess I should offer both to you and your Mom. Your helping her is a huge help and she appreciates it more than you know."

He stared at the floor and muttered, "I wish she did."

Alarm bells rang in Allie's head, but she forced herself to sound casual as she said, "I'm sure she does." She stopped at the door to the kindergarten classroom and turned to face her young 'team.' "All right, now, what're your names?"

The kid she'd been talking to was Danny Reid, and seemed to have been silently 'elected' the leader of this little group. "All right, I want you to start taking these desks and chairs out of here and put them in another classroom. We want to give the little kids as much room to run around as possible. The room next to this is a kindergarten classroom too, so when you get done in here start emptying that too and we can use that space as well—" she stopped because Danny had raised his hand. "Yes, Danny?"

"Um…my little brother and sister go to school here, so…well, I noticed once that the walls between these two classrooms actually fold back in sections so the two rooms can be combined into one large one. We could take all of the desks out of both rooms and then pull the wall back to make one large playroom for them. There's lots of books and learning toys, and the parents and older kids like us can take turns babysitting. And…I noticed you have generators—if you can bring one here and plug in a couple of lamps and the teacher's DVD projector, they can watch movies, and whoever is babysitting can keep an eye on it and tell you when it's low on fuel."

Allie beamed. "Excellent Idea, Danny, and as you're familiar with this building and what it has in it…I'll leave it up to you to get this organized." Then she saw his look. "Did you have any other suggestions? I'd love to her them."

"Um. I know the library wouldn't be a real important area, but my little sister loves to read and I'll bet some of the others would too. This school goes up to the eighth grade so there's a large library, and it would be a good place for some of us older kids to read or catch up on homework. If you could take a generator to the library and just plug a couple of lamps to it…"

Allie thought about that. "I can see your point, but that means I'd have to have one of my friends—" she stopped herself from saying 'fellow soldiers' just in time, "sit in the library to make sure no one ruins the books or decides to start a fire or something." But the more she thought about it, the more she could see the value in having something else to pass the time for those taking refuge here. Perhaps she could even organize some of the adults to take turns watching the library, like the mothers would take turns watching the little kids in the kindergarten-turned playroom. "Okay. Let me talk to the guys about taking a generator to the library and hooking a couple of lamps to it. You see if you can get these two rooms ready for the little kids, and I'll come check on you in about ten minutes."

She headed back to the gym, found Dash in the process of greeting Stalker, who had headed up the team that went to the FEMA center. "Find anything we can use over there?"

Stalker nodded enthusiastically. "Lots of MRE's, tons of batteries and flashlights, even lanterns with the 6 volt lantern batteries. Found some kinetic flashlights too, funny enough."

"Kinetic flashlights?" Allie frowned.

"Windup flashlights," Dash pointed to a couple of little kids sitting nearby, giggling as they turned a crank handle on the end of a little red flashlight; the light coming out the other end of the flashlight delighted the two four-year olds, who were winding the flashlights with great enthusiasm. "Putting all that baby energy to good use." This drew a smothered chuckle from Stalker.

"Speaking of which…" Allie quickly outlined Danny's plan to empty the kindergarten classroom and turn it into a child's playroom, which Dash nodded approval at. "And Danny also said that if we could take an extra generator to the library and plug a couple of lamps the older kids would have a place to read and catch up on homework."

Dash frowned a little. "But then someone's going to have to sit in the library and keep an eye on them, make sure they don't cause any mischief there."

"Now, see, I had an idea about that. Let's give some of the adults something to do besides complain. None of us have any experience with children whatsoever, but we could organize the parents into taking turns watching the kids in the playroom. So why can't we organize another team of them to watch over the library? Might even be able to do some reading of their own, or help kids catch up on homework."

Dash nodded. "Yes, I can see that. All right, Stalker, you said you and Recondo found another generator at the FEMA center? Take that to the library and plug some lamps into it." He scanned the gym for another soldier, then called out, "Brawler! Over here!"

Despite the noise in the gym, Brawler heard Flint and came jogging up, his bulky frame easily shouldering smaller people aside. "Yeah, Flint?" he asked easily.

"Take Wild Bill with you and get a generator set up in the kindergarten class down the hall and to the right. Lady Jaye got a group of older kids in there clearing out the desks and chairs and folding back a wall to make a large playroom for the little kids—if we can keep them occupied they'll be less likely to cause trouble." Brawler gave a single nod and trotted off to find a generator and Wild Bill, and Flint looked around for another soldier. "BeachHead!"

"Yeah Flint." Beach Head came over smiling.

Flint looked at him suspiciously. "You look like you're having too much fun there."

"It's Cover Girl, Flint." Beach Head moved aside slightly, and they all saw, behind them, Courtney putting a Band-Aid on a smiling little tow-headed girl's knee. "She won't say it, and she'll smack me if I say it, but she's enjoying playing nurse to the little kids." Beside Courtney, Melinda Warner was shining a lighted scope into a woman's eyes, presumably the mother of the little girl, and smiling at Courtney's obvious enjoyment of the situation.

Flint grinned himself. "She does look like she's having fun, doesn't she? And the kids seem to like her." The little girl was now hugging Courtney tight, and the hug was being returned. "Okay, Beach Head, hate to take you away from this charming little domestic scene, but I need you to start talking to a couple of the parents, see if you can organize a team of rotating volunteers to keep an eye on the library. Some of the older kids might want a place to sit and talk away from adults and the little kids, but we don't want them getting any ideas about making paper airplanes out of the library book pages so there has to be someone there monitoring them. And once you're done that, go from classroom to classroom and check all the teachers' drawers for any DVD's or movies suitable for the kids to watch, and take that to the kids' playroom. Keep an eye out for any candy or sweets or anything we can use to reward the little kids for good behavior."

"Sir!" Beach Head saluted and moved off, only to be replaced moments later by Melinda Warner.

"Dr. Warner. It's good to see you survived the storm, and thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being willing to come and help out here."

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew help was needed here and didn't come," Melinda said, a tired smile lighting her face. "Just like you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you knew there was some way you could help and didn't—even if it cost you your career."

"I never said that," Clayton responded, but his smile was warm.

"You didn't have to," Melinda said, her voice low. "Olivia and I are friends, and I'm seeing a little more of her after work than I used to since she moved out here to Staten Island. She talks about you a lot…and from listening to her, I know that you aren't here because you were ordered to, you're here right now because you want to be, because you have just as much of a sense of duty and honor as she does. If she were out here on Staten Island right now she'd be here helping these people too."

"I asked her to evacuate, to go to her old apartment in the city and stay with Shana and Cam for the duration of the emergency. I didn't want her here in case something happened to the house, I didn't want her in it."

"Well, you'll be pleased to know, then, that your house is fine. Might have some siding missing off it, but that's it. I drove past it on the way here and took a quick peek; everything's still okay."

Clayton blew out a breath of relief. "That's one worry off my mind."

"I thought it might be. That was why I drove past. Now, there's nothing you're going to be able to do about the military's reaction to your coming out to help—you made the decision and you can't go back on it now—so focus on helping people and worry about the military's reaction later. There's nothing you can do about it now. Cross that bridge when you get to it."


	11. Chapter 71: Relief

**Chapter 71: Relief**

"Olivia, stop it!" Cam said sharply in exasperation.

Liv stopped in mid-stride, only just then realizing she was pacing…again. "Sorry," she said apologetically, sitting down on a kitchen chair and sighing. "I just…I'm frustrated."

Cam softened her tone. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled like that. I know you're worried about your house, and you haven't heard from Clayton in three days, but you shouldn't feel useless, you're being lots of help here." As she spoke, she shifted Erin in her arms so the baby was now facing her shoulder, and started patting the baby's back to get her to burp.

"Anyone can change a diaper and feed a baby. You're doing fine," Liv said. "And you're the one with the medical knowledge."

"My knowledge, as you call it, is classified as herbal lore and folk medicine, and a little bit of field first aid, courtesy of my military training. Nothing significant. You're the one who's had a baby, who's been through this, and fairly recently too, so you know what to do from experience." Cam smiled crookedly. "And you were the one who brought those two cases of newborn diapers."

Olivia had to smile at that too. "Funny how that turned out, isn't it? I'm glad I thought to bring them with me."

"Exactly. And your experience has been invaluable." Two days ago they'd noticed that Evan looked a little peaky, but none of them had known why until Liv remembered her doctor telling her what Auggie would look like with a vitamin D deficiency, and he'd told her that it was easily remedied with exposure to sunlight. So they'd tightly wrapped up both babies (with the hurricane now gone, it seemed to have taken all the heat and stickiness of the long, hot summer with it, leaving unseasonably early cold behind) and taken both babies out onto the roof of the apartment building. Evan's color (and appetite) had flooded back, and they were now taking once-daily trips out to the roof.

"But so has yours. My milk came in almost immediately, but Shana's took a little longer. I was a worried I was going to have to go out and flag a passing uni to go to the store and get some baby formula." The mayor had instituted a ban on all non-emergency traffic, and as the crime rate in New York City had dropped to virtually nil, there was little need for those who couldn't get in to get in until the traffic restrictions were lifted, which they anticipated would by the end of the week. Shana was doing a combination of breastfeeding and Cam, Charlie, and Terrence were supplementing with a bottle during those times when Shana was sleeping. Although she hadn't suffered any physical trauma, certainly nothing like the horrific tearing Olivia had gone through with Auggie, Cam still wanted her to stay in bed until the worst of the pain in her pelvic floor went away. So Liv, Cam and Charlie were taking turns feeding, burping and changing the babies while Shana was in bed, and Terence was alternating between incredulous joy whenever he held one of the twins and cuddling Shana tenderly when the babies were taken off his hands. He helped her out of bed to the bathroom, helped her get back in, rubbed lotion on her stomach, brought her trays in bed-fortunately there was a corner bodega that was in walking distance that had maintained a decent supply of canned goods, which they were now eating as deliveries of fresh produce and meat were almost nonexistent due to the traffic ban.

The TV, however, had been more than adequate as a window out to their world, and the news had been on non-stop, bringing updates and keeping them abreast of what was going on in the city. While Upper Manhattan had largely escaped unscathed except for massive power outages, Lower Manhattan and Queens had been the hardest hit…but what concerned all of them, though they didn't say so to Liv, was that there was virtually no mention of Staten Island. "With the traffic ban, they probably can't get any news crews out to Staten Island, so that's why no news. I'm sure they made it okay."

But they were all aware that Liv's current restlessness had a lot to do with not knowing how Clayton was actually doing, and so they did their best to keep her busy. Cam excused herself from as much of the baby-tending as possible, (deferring to Liv's experience, as she put it) and although they knew Liv knew that was at least part of the reason why she got handed one of the babies so often, she didn't complain.

Evan and Erin went on happily ignorant of the turmoil around them. At a little over six pounds each when they'd been born, three days later they seemed determined to grow overnight and both had enormous appetites, though they went about appeasing it differently. Erin latched on eagerly, but Evan was fussier, and didn't really like breastfeeding; he seemed happier with the bottle, and Shana swore as soon as she could, she'd be getting a breast pump so he could get what he needed the way he liked it. "Just like a male," she said fondly, stroking his wispy baby curls. "Has to have what he wants, when he wants it, how he wants it, no exceptions."

There had been a pediatric RN living in the apartment building two floors up, and as news traveled throughout the building that two babies had been born in the middle of the storm, she'd come down to see them, to check them out. She pronounced them both healthy and thriving, and saw no need for Shana and Terence to brave the traffic ban to get the babies to a hospital. She'd commended Cam on her midwifery skills and promised to come down if she was needed, but so far they hadn't had to consult her. In comparison with Auggie's drama-laden birth, Evan and Erin were quietly hassle-free except for their exponentially-growing appetites—which fortunately Shana was able to supply, with a little assistance from formula purchased at the corner bodega.

"Liv! Cam! There's something about Staten Island on the news!" Shana called from the bedroom excitedly, and almost simultaneously Liv's cellphone rang. She grabbed it off the counter even as they all ran for Shana's bedroom. And yes, a news crew had finally managed to get out to Staten Island, after three days, and they were confronted with image after image of flooded houses, submerged cars, siding stripped off houses, piles of snapped lumber ripped from houses lying everywhere.

"Oh. My. God." Olivia's hand went to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears even as she hit the call button on her phone and held it to her ear. "Detective Benson."

"Liv?" the warm baritone filled her ears even as tears filled her eyes, and she choked out, "Clayton?!"

"It's me, baby. We're all okay, we got through the storm okay. The two lower levels got flooded, that was it." And then, suddenly, they could see him on the screen, as the news crew focused on what looked like an unloading effort in front of a school. The reporter was talking about members of Team Rubicon opening a school so those rendered homeless by the storm could have some shelter from the now suddenly unseasonable cold, but the only thing Liv could see was Clayton, standing off to one side, talking into his cellphone…to her, and it was so surreal, looking at him on the TV screen and hearing him in her ear at the same time. Then he turned, and looked straight into the camera, and she choked back a sob even as he turned back around so that his face wouldn't be visible to the TV camera.

"It's okay, baby, we're all okay, we're all alive and we're well. I couldn't stay at base knowing people were out here and needed help so we used Team Rubicon as a cover and came out here to open an emergency shelter. I can't stay on the phone long, I just wanted you to know I was all right. Melinda Warner is here, she and her family made it through okay and she drove past our house on her way here, says it's still standing and still fine."

"I wasn't worried about the house, I was worried about you, but I'll let the precinct know she's okay. Oh, and tell everyone—Shana had the twins. Cam delivered them in the middle of the storm, and everything went well, and we are all fine." A hiss of static interrupted her, and she knew the signal was going to go out; she managed a quick 'I love you' before the line went dead.

And amazingly, Melinda Warner was in front of the TV cameras as in the background, Clayton grabbed a box of…something…from a vehicle and disappeared inside the school. She seemed to have been designated official spokesperson—not surprising, as they all knew the Joes would stay off-screen as much as possible, and Melinda, as ex-military, knew they had to maintain confidentiality—and as New York City's Medical Examiner, she could also present a recognizable public face that could get the press focused on her so they wouldn't try too hard to get shots of the 'Team Rubicon' relief coordinators. It was a clever strategy.

"The storm hit Staten Island pretty hard, at least the lower part of the island here," Melinda was saying. "There were a lot of people in need, people whose houses were flooded. The FEMA center was closed, there was no choice but to open up the high school for the refugees. Most of the supplies you see here are from the FEMA center; as you can see, we're in the process of bringing the last of those supplies here." The tone of her voice dared someone to complain that Team Rubicon had broken into and pretty much stole everything in the FEMA center; while she knew that eventually the Joes would be called to an accounting of their actions, the most important thing now was that the people who needed those supplies and this help got it. Everything else would come later.

The reporter seemed to agree with her, since he made no comment about the illegality of a private concern breaking into a government building and appropriating items meant for government dispersal. Now, if they'd known the Joes were active-duty serving military, there would be no question, but she couldn't bring that up. So instead she steered him away from where the Joes were unloading more supplies purloined from FEMA and over to where Captain Mark Mitchell was directing a group of Staten Island Police officers to head out with one of the search parties.

Captain Mitchell was a former Marine turned police captain, and although the Joes hadn't come straight out and said they were active-serving military and classified, he seemed to have gotten the idea on his own, because after a couple of carefully- veiled questions to her about their 'Team Rubicon' cover that had been met with vague, unsatisfactory answers , he'd abruptly stopped asking those questions and simply told her that if anyone showed up wanting to talk to the 'head' of the relief effort here, inquiries should be directed to him. Though no one said anything, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between Mitchell, Clayton, and Melinda to keep the Joes' presence a secret, a secret that was much easier to keep now that the refugees from the storm included police officers and their families, and once their families were safe these officers had no problem with joining the organizational efforts—which allowed the Joes to stay even further in the background. Aside from Captain Mitchell, no one had questioned their 'Team Rubicon' cover.

The reporter asked Mitchell for an update, and the man was only too happy to give it. "We have about three hundred people here, men, women, and children. The kindergarten classrooms have been opened as a sort of 'daycare' for the younger kids, supervised by rotating teams of parents; a generator was taken to the library and the library opened for older kids. Adults who want to read have been monitoring the library, and some retired teachers have even started informal 'class' sessions in the library to keep the kids from getting bored.

"Those refugees who have food-service and food-prep skills/experience have volunteered to help in the cafeteria. With the power out, the food in the refrigerators and freezers would spoil fast so that food was cooked first. We're actually coming right about to the end of those reserves and we'll have to start using FEMA's MREs soon, but for now cafeteria food seems to be holding us over. We've also gotten generous donations from local business owners who know the perishable items in their stores will go bad without a way to freeze and preserve it, and we've been stretching out our supplies with those."

He went on to explain that search-and-rescue parties were now out going door to door of those residents who'd chosen to stay in their houses and making sure they had what they needed and didn't need medical attention. "When refugees first started coming here, they were asked to sign in, their names and their children's names, then they were asked to write down the names and addresses of anyone they were concerned about; friends, relatives, and elderly. In some cases, they found those people had come here already, but for those who were worried about elderly folk who hadn't been willing or able to leave their homes, we're sending out small groups of volunteers to check on those homes and addresses. Many of the adult refugees here who are licensed medical professionals have volunteered to go out with these search-and-rescue teams to check on those elderly or who need medical care, and we have found a couple who have been in need of shelter and warmth and medical attention and they have been brought back here. We have a team of medical professionals here, several ex-military members of Team Rubicon and a host of volunteer medical personnel, also refugees, all organized under the Manhattan Chief Medical Examiner, Melinda Warner, and they are providing healthcare and medical attention to those who need it."

Having outlined all of that, his tone changed to one slightly pleading. "We are running out of food, of supplies, of gas for the rescue vehicles that are doing the door-to-door searches and bringing in those who couldn't evacuate on their own. We're first responders, we train for emergencies, and we are doing the best we can but we simply aren't capable of managing long-term disaster relief and assistance —we haven't the foggiest idea what to do when our supplies run out. We need an authority out here who knows how to handle long-term disaster relief, people need clean clothes, hot showers, babies need formula and diapers, things we can't provide because there is no way to get these things. Help can't get here soon enough, though I thank the News crew for bringing cases of bottled water in their truck." The unloading that had been going on behind Melinda had been Clayton mobilizing some of the Joes to unload those cases of water the news crew had brought with them.

"We'll do what we can," The reporter promised, and there was real sincerity in his voice. "The bridges were just opened, and we were one of the first vehicles to come through but there are others behind us, National Guard vehicles with supplies, FEMA coming out to set up and provide the long-term assistance management you need. But the work you've done so far, setting up, centralizing and coordinating rescue and relief efforts, have been invaluable, and I'm positive there isn't a single soul here who isn't incredibly grateful that you chose to do so. From the police, to the Medical Examiner to the Team Rubicon members. Is there one I can talk to?"

"They were the first ones to volunteer to go out on search-and-rescue missions, so no, none of them are here to speak with at the moment. But I'll make sure they know they are commended for their response and actions."

Clayton pulled Allie aside as the news crew turned off their cameras and started taking equipment inside to set up in the gym. "Run ahead and tell all our people not to talk to reporters, and stay out of view of the cameras." Allie nodded once, quickly, and took off.

And when he turned Mitchell was standing right behind him.

He started to open his mouth, but Mitchell held up a hand. "No explanations needed, General. I've got enough years in the military under my belt to understand that there is a reason why you chose not to make it known you are active-duty military, and I'm not about to question those reasons."

"How did you know?" Clayton asked.

"The way you and your people carry yourselves. The way you move—when a group of your people walk together their steps sync up, and that's something that only comes with the Service. Your codenames—my brother is a member of Team Rubicon, and they do occasionally use their old codenames from the service but not often. And….I remembered seeing you from the trials that were televised from the trial of that human trafficking banker some months back. And that brown-haired woman you just spoke to, I remember her too." He must have seen the look of chagrin on Clayton's face, because he grinned. "Don't worry, I don't think anyone else remembers, or made the connection. And my brother, as I mentioned, is a member of Team Rubicon and we both decided to keep your secret. He's going to serve as the spokesperson for the 'Team Rubicon' group that started this relief effort, and as there are now National Guard and FEMA heading for us, I would recommend a strategic troop withdrawal for you. You don't want to be here when they come, and we have enough refugee volunteers now to cover your absence. And my brother is going to be here in an hour with about sixteen members of Team Rubicon, so you will never even be missed. We have adequate people to cover your departure."

"I was thinking now would be a good time to leave," Clayton admitted; there had been a request not that long ago for Dash to provide some specialized training to the local National Guard post, and there was no guarantee that one of those troops wouldn't recognize him. "As long as you're sure we won't be needed…"

"I'm positive. We're going to be fine. Go and get some rest, General Abernathy. You've earned it." And Mitchell was gone, heading for another incoming vehicle with an old man in a wheelchair in it.

Experienced at withdrawing troops unnoticed in hostile territory, the Joes accomplished their troop withdrawal so smoothly and carefully that few people even noticed they were gone. Clayton left their vehicle with Melinda—the Joes Hummer looked enough like the civilian Hummers that it wouldn't draw undue attention, and the space in the back when the seats folded down made it invaluable as an 'ambulance' for the bed-ridden elderly who needed to be brought in. They left it in Melinda's care, she promising to return it as soon as the current emergency permitted.


	12. Chapter 72: Discovery

**Chapter 72: Discovery**

"So how are things going?"

Clayton sighed as he leaned back in the sofa next to Liv and watched Auggie scoot around the coffee table hanging on to the edge. "Well, it's been a week and we haven't heard anything from Lieutenant General Johnson yet, and we're all crossing our fingers and hoping that he didn't see that little video clip from the news that showed me talking to you on my cellphone, but there's still this waiting feeling, like we're expecting the other shoe to drop. I am positive we haven't heard the last of this, and I'm expecting the US military to take some sort of action."

It had been ten days since the storm rolled through, and so much had happened in that time that Clayton and Liv were only now getting a chance to update each other on their experiences during the storm.

The Joes had withdrawn as quietly as they'd come, and returned to base with no one noticing (they hoped.) Duke, frustrated with inaction and heartily wishing that he'd been allowed to come on the relief mission (as they'd all taken to calling their clandestine adventure off-base) had channeled that frustrated energy into getting base cleaned up and back in operational condition. The floors were clean and dry, new wax laid down on said floors, and inventory made of what the Joes had taken with them and now needed to be replenished. This included MRE's, bottled water and emergency medical supplies. Over the next couple of months the Quartermaster would quietly requisition what they needed to rebuild their reserve supplies, a little at a time, to replace what had been used without alerting military higher-ups to what those supplies had actually been used for. Clayton had gotten a hand cramp signing a seemingly endless stream of requisition forms and resupply lists, but he'd signed them without a murmur of complaint because, after all, it had been his decision to take their supplies out to help the people, and he didn't regret that decision one bit.

The news that Shana had given birth to the twins during the storm had brought exuberant joy to the population at Joe base, and a couple of wickedly merry smiles from Allie and Courtney, both of whom had heard Shana declaring emphatically that she would be giving birth in a regular hospital with doctors and pain meds. There was relief, however, in the knowledge that the birth had been trouble-free and both babies were healthy and thriving; and no small measure of thanks to Cam, whose Native American knowledge of tribal midwifery was generally considered to have been helpful. Even by Doc. "I would have recommended she be in a hospital, epidurals given and monitors placed on mom and babies, and the babies placed in a proper incubator—"

"I'm pretty sure that's what Shana would have preferred too," Clayton said with a smile.

"But barring that, I am glad Shana had at least one medically-skilled attendant at the birth."

Clayton pretended to be shocked. "Why, Doc. Are you actually saying you approve of the Native American midwife skills Cam has? That Native American pseudo-medical mumbo-jumbo?" A smile quirked his lips; it had been a complaint the Joes had heard often from Doc after he'd seen the extent of Cam's burn scars and understood they were the result of Native American healing and herbal techniques. Though he had more sense than to say anything to Cam directly, what he'd thought was no secret among the majority of the Joes.

Doc refused to rise to Clayton's mild ribbing. "I am glad that Shana had someone with her. And for natural processes like giving birth, especially in low-risk, completely normal pregnancies like Shana's, Native American practices could hardly hurt."

"Uhm-hmm." Clayton smiled. _He's just glad that Shana and the twins are okay, irregardless of who attended the birth and whether modern or Native American medicine was used._ Doc didn't care as long as everyone was all right and came through okay.

And that sentiment was echoed by everyone on base.

"It wasn't s bad as mine," Olivia said now. "I mean, I was pretty out of it, and my memories of Auggie's birth are a bit fuzzy, but Cam did well encouraging Shana and keeping her from wearing herself out before it was time to push, and Shana actually listened to Cam and followed her instructions." A smile curled her lips. "But all three of us girls collectively realized that if it were up to the male half of our species to give birth, the human race would die out. Snake Eyes was almost paralyzed when he felt Shana's contractions through their bond. They both tried to deny it, but we knew-you guys don't handle pain that well."

He wanted to deny it, and couldn't not just because she was right—which she was…but he was so happy to have her beside him, warm and alive and okay, and Auggie playing happily in front of them both, keeping him from watching the football game on TV, that he simply didn't even have the heart to argue with her. Instead he just hugged her a little closer, kissed the top of her head, and settled in to watch the game, determined for the moment to push all other worries and cares aside and enjoy just being with his family.

But the worry settled back in the next morning as he sat down at his (neat) desk. Joking and kidding aside, there was still a feeling that they were simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was too much to hope that their absence from Joe base would not have been missed by the military, by Lieutenant General Johnson in particular; although Duke reported that communications had been out while they were gone and actually hadn't been restored until a couple of days after they got back, and Clayton had sent a quick email to Lieutenant General Johnson detailing how they'd gotten through the storm, they had heard nothing back from the Lieutenant General. To be completely fair, Clayton wasn't really expecting him to respond right away; there were a couple of other Army bases in the other states that had been affected by the massive superstorm. While New York and New Jersey had sustained the most (and costliest) damage, states up and down the eastern seaboard had been affected, and as the supervising authority for the Northeast region, Johnson had to be very busy indeed. Clayton didn't envy him one bit.

And as if his thoughts had conjured up the man, his desktop vidphone beeped, and the call signal was Lieutenant General Johnson's. Clayton braced himself as he opened the videoconference link.

Johnson looked tired. No, beyond tired; dark shadows under his eyes spoke eloquently of his fatigue. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant General Johnson."

Johnson's craggy face broke into a tired smile. "Good afternoon, Major General Abernathy. I got your message—I assume from that, you and your people weathered the storm with little damage?"

"Very little, Johnson—the two lower levels of base flooded but other than that we did come through unscathed. We just took everything up to the upper levels and opened folding cots in the mess, and spent the night up there till the storm passed, then our engineering geniuses rigged a pumping system that got all the water out in what I would consider near-record time, and we settled back in like the storm never happened."

"Except for the four or so days that you spent at the high school on Staten Island coordinating and organizing relief efforts for the people." Levity vanished from Johnson's voice, and he shook his head tiredly. "I saw the news report, Abernathy—saw you unloading cases of water from the news crew vehicle while the news crew was talking to the New York City Medical Examiner. Just a moment, and I had to blink twice before I recognized your walk when you turned away. And so far as I know I'm the only one who knows that was you. No one else seemed to have noticed, given the depth and breadth of the disaster.

"Now, I will say that I haven't said anything to the Secretary of Defense, or to anyone higher up than myself. I haven't the time and, to be completely frank, I haven't the heart. The US military exists to protect and serve the people and the interests of the US Government, and no one can say that your team hasn't done that throughout the emergency. The City of New York's Chief Medical Examiner was very vocal and insistent in hr praise of Team Rubicon's efforts, and so was the head of the Staten Island Police Department. The head of Team Rubicon's New York chapter accepted praise on behalf of his team, seemed to be in concordance with the general opinion that they'd been there all along, and only a skilled observer—or someone who knew the truth—would have been able to tell that he never came straight out and said yes, Team Rubicon had been there from the beginning. Several of the survivors talked about people whose nicknames were 'Hawk' and 'Flint' and 'Lady Jaye' being behind the initial organization efforts but were unable to point those individuals out in a crowd.

"You've put concern for the people ahead of your career. I can't fault you for that because as a soldier in the US Army, that's exactly what you're supposed to do; serve the country and its interests first. I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't have done the same had I been in your shoes. And I doubt that this is going to land you in front of a court-martialing authority—I will certainly not be convening one.

"But I am not the entire US military, and there are other authorities, like the late General Clancy, who would take this opportunity to discipline you or to try and remove you from your post as this base's commander. I'm positive you thought of that before you decided to go out there, and I'm equally sure you've decided to accept whatever happens. So, Clayton, while I cannot say I envy the position you're in, I will also say that I can't fault what you've done. You've maintained the secrecy of your base and your soldiers, and you've done an immense amount of good—there would be a lot more unhappy possibly dead, people out there if you and your soldiers hadn't chosen to do what you did, so if it comes up in front of the Secretary of Defense or the President, I will do my best to plead your case."

Clayton opened his mouth to thank Johnson, but Johnson held up a hand. "Don't thank me yet, Abernathy. It still remains to find out what the higher-ups are going to want to do about this. You're not out of the woods just yet."

"He did what?" Whitmore stopped in midstride, and the Secretary of Defense and the head of the Senate Subcommittee on Defense Affairs walked a few steps past him before they realized he'd stopped and had to turn and walk a few steps back.

Whitmore didn't even notice. He was still staring at the head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency. "Excuse me. Could you please repeat that because I'm not sure I heard you right. Major General Abernathy was the one who ordered his soldiers to raid the FEMA building out on Staten Island for supplies to redistribute to the disaster victims?"

"Yes, Sir, Mr. President." The man was puffed up in indignation. "He violated orders to maintain the secrecy and confidentiality of his base, his posting, and his command, went out after the disaster with a team of his people and broke into the FEMA facility and stole everything in it without authorization."

"Uh, actually, Mr. President, I doubt you could say that he violated orders to maintain secrecy, since we didn't even know till now that he was even involved. The press has accepted the Team Rubicon story without question, and Team Rubicon themselves accepted the commendations of the people and the media. We are the only ones who knew that Team Rubicon was NOT, in fact, responsible for maintaining order in the middle of that emergency, and that certain stories didn't quite match up." The Secretary of Defense shot the FEMA head an offended look, which the man didn't deign to return, his attention being focused on the President.

"Major General Abernathy is the one whose team was caught up in the Columbia mess right about a year and a half ago, isn't it?" President Whitmore was thinking very hard indeed.

"Yes, Mr. President. If you remember, it was his team that uncovered the affair the late Major General Clancy tried to cover up by having a US civilian murdered in Colombia."

"And it was also his team that blew their cover when they went into the Congo with the lawyer from the ICC to rescue children."

"Yes, but they also uncovered and blew wide open one of the main avenues for human trafficking out of the DRC and to Europe. Although we could wish that it hadn't happened at all, and we do acknowledge that the members of General Abernathy's team were responsible for getting caught, it was also their teamwork and bonds that kept all of them alive and brought them home to tell their story and expose the human trafficking ring."

"And it was also one of his team members who spent some time in ICE custody for being an illegal alien." The head of Homeland Security spoke from beside the FEMA head's elbow.

"She was cleared of that, it was a misunderstanding. She's an American citizen—maybe more so than the rest of us since DNA proves she's Iroquois." The Secretary of Defense spoke firmly.

President Whitmore raised a hand. "Stop. I don't want to hear a litany of things they've done wrong as opposed to what they've done right. Do we know, for sure, that this decorated Major General took his confidential, classified project soldiers out to help the people of Staten Island?"

"They broke into the FEMA center and stole everything in it!" the FEMA head protested. "The supplies in that building were being warehoused for FEMA, who is a division of Homeland Security, not the Department of Defense!"

"I'm going to want to have a talk with the Major General myself. I believe I can tour the disaster area now that vehicles are permitted on the streets?'

The Secretary of State cleared her throat. "Mr. President, all due respect, Sir, but the mayors of many of the affected towns and the governors of those states are requesting that you not make an official visit. With emergency resources like fire and police and other first responders stretched thin, it would be putting additional strain on them to provide security for the entourage that will be necessary for an official visit. Your unofficial visit of a few days ago was a blessing to that governor but we shouldn't strain their resources anymore."

"I have an alternative if you're open to it, Mr. President," The Secretary of Defense said. "Major General Abernathy could join us via video conference to explain himself and his actions."

"But it would be very difficult to enforce his departure and removing him from his command at the conclusion of that conference," Homeland Security objected.

Whitmore turned on his heel to face the head of Homeland Security. "As Commander In Chief of the US Armed Forces, I make the ultimate decision of who to remove from command, not you," he said, his tone indicating exactly what he thought about that suggestion. The head of Homeland Security looked suitably chastened and Whitmore turned and resumed walking. "Get Lieutenant General Johnson up on vidscreen, and then get Major General Abernathy on one as well."

"Uh, Mr. President? You're due for a luncheon with the First Lady to discuss her selection for the Women of Courage award." An aide was quick to remind him.

"I did forget." The President looked chagrinned. "Don't tell the First Lady." A chuckle from the Secretary of Defense. "All right. Let me go to lunch with her—it's been a few days since I could have a quiet meal with her, and it was something she was looking forward to, so let's not disappoint her. Secretary, if you could inform Major General Abernathy and Lieutenant General Johnson that I want them available for a video conference this afternoon, say, around three—I think I have an hour before the dinner with the ambassador from Turkey—that should be enough time to say what needs to be said. And now, let me go have lunch with Catherine."

He went, but he wasn't really paying a lot of attention. He stared at his plate, picked at his food, worrying about what he was going to say, how he was going to handle it, until finally Catherine said in exasperation, "Have you heard a single word of what I've said?"

"I'm sorry," he said, instantly contrite. "I had a few other things on my mind."

Catherine smiled, but it was a patient, sympathetic smile. "I said I wanted to nominate Alexandra Cabot for the award. Do you think the commander of the unit who was protecting her in the Congo would be able to come?"

He stared at her. "Good God, Catherine, how do you do that?"

"Do what?" she frowned in puzzlement.

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"You were thinking about Major General Abernathy?"

"Yes. He took most of his classified unit off their base on Staten Island, broke into the FEMA center and stole the supplies there to organize a relief effort for the people who were affected on the Island until regular disaster relief could get there. Claimed to be members of Team Rubicon while he did it so no one would know they were active-duty serving military and break the confidentiality of their base and project." Whitmore put his fork down with a sigh. "The problem I have now is how to discipline him for what he did."

"Discipline? Why on earth would you need to discipline him?"

"He violated direct orders to maintain the confidentiality of his project and base and he broke into the FEMA center and stole the supplies housed there to redistribute to victims of the hurricane."

Catherine frowned. "Wait. Since it took this long for someone to find out he and his unit was responsible, and the media hasn't shouted it from the housetops, Major General Abernathy hasn't broken the confidentiality agreements. And as for 'breaking in' to the FEMA center and 'stealing' the supplies, well, technically he didn't steal anything since those supplies are paid for with taxpayer money and belong to the people. And they got to where they were needed most, by the people who needed them most. So as I see it, the only thing you really could possibly discipline him and his unit for is breaking into the FEMA center. And maybe the school where they set up their relief center."

Whitmore stared at Catherine, a slow smile dawning on his face. "You know, you're absolutely right. I knew there was a reason why I married you."

"You needed some extra common sense to handle this job." Catherine snorted. "Now, if that solved your dilemma, can we finish up our lunch?"


	13. Chapter 73: Discipline

**Chapter 73: Discipline**

Clayton smoothed down the front of his uniform with a self-conscious movement. _This could be the last time I ever wear this uniform, depending on how angry the President is over my deception. This could cost me my career, and possibly even time in military prison. _

He winced at the thought, but squared his shoulders. _It was my decision, and I will take responsibility for it. No one else. If a head has to roll over this, then it should be mine._

He tugged down the front of his jacket, turned off the light, then allowed himself a private grimace just before he opened the door to his quarters.

And stared.

The hallway outside his quarters was lined with his soldiers. Each and every one, standing in full dress uniform, ranged on either side of the hallway; one line led by Duke, one line led by Flint. And as soon as they saw him, they all raised their right hands to their foreheads in a crisp military salute.

He took a step out into the hallway, closed the door to his quarters, speechless. There was nothing he could think of to say, nothing he could say to the outpouring of support he could almost literally feel coming from the soldiers on either side of the hallway. Instead, he snapped them a salute back, and held the salute until he got to the end of the double row of soldiers. Then, on impulse, he stopped, turned and faced them.

"I'm assuming you're all here because you've heard that Lieutenant General Johnson and I are supposed to be on a conference call with the President in half an hour's time. I also assume we're all assuming it is going to be over my decision to take you with me on an unsanctioned relief mission." He saw the affirmation in everyone's eyes. "Let me assure you that this decision was mine, and mine alone, and I will do my best to protect all of you. As your commander, the ultimate decision, and therefore, the ultimate penalties, will rest with me. I cannot promise that it will not affect any of your careers, but I will do what I can to shield you because you have never been anything but exemplary. You have followed every order I have ever given you, even when you disagreed with them, and me, personally. You have done your best in service of this country and its ideals in every situation I, and the US military, have ever asked of you, and I am proud to have served with you, with each and every one of you. I am proud to have called you subordinates, fellow soldiers, brothers—and sisters—in arms." This last with a slight nod to Allie and Courtney, standing side by side halfway down the line to his right. "I have never served with a better unit than this one, and I suspect I never will again. So with that in mind, thank you for your support and I wish you luck." And he had to turn away quickly, eyes stinging, as a lump threatened to close his throat. He would miss them, every single one of them, if the result of this conference was the end of his career.

Behind him, he heard a unanimous chorus; "Good luck, General Hawk." And had to fight tears again as he hurried down the hallway.

Promptly at 1500, the computer monitor on his desktop flickered to life, and resolved quickly into a split-screen image, with Lieutenant General Johnson on one side of the screen, and the situation room at the White House, with President Whitmore seated at the head of the table between the Secretary of Defense and the head of US NorthCom. Lieutenant General Johnson was the supervising authority for the Northeast region, so it made sense that he would also be present.

"All right. Major General Abernathy, you're a career military man, so you're used to forthrightness and directness. I won't therefore, waste words with you or mince pleasantries. Please describe, in your own words, what happened and what led up to your decision to take a group of your soldiers off a classified base on an unsanctioned mission. Start, if you will, with how your base fared during the storm—I haven't yet read the report and I'd like to get some insight."

Hawk took a moment to compose his thoughts, then started. "When we first heard that there was a hurricane forecasted to possibly come up the Eastern seaboard and hit New York, most of the people at my base figured it was going to be a repeat of the hurricane last year—rain, wind, a few power outages, nothing major." Well, in retrospect, it hadn't been anything major for the majority of the eastern seaboard; it was only for him that the hurricane the year before had been momentous, and that had only been rendered so because he'd been in the middle of SERE training at that time and the egregious neglect by the training authorities had turned something simple into an unnecessarily complicated affair. However, that wasn't relevant to the issue at hand now. "Some of the personnel at my base have been previously posted at bases where hurricanes or typhoons are common, and they helped us prepare for the storm.

"The two lower levels of our base got flooded during the storm, but fortunately we discovered it in time to move everything in those storage and supply levels up to the recreation and administrative levels, and the engineers rigged up some sort of system with fire hoses and pumps to keep the water level at bay. The floor of the residence level flooded, but not too badly, and we just set up folding cots in the mess and rec rooms and spent the night there.

"When the storm finally passed and the rain slacked off to a gentle drizzle, we went out the motorpool doors and had a look. It was the most surreal sight I'd ever seen. The floodwaters had torn a boat loose from its mooring and carried it up into the parking lot for the Fort Wadsworth Chaplains' school, and parked it neatly between two of the vehicles there without so much as a scratch. Everywhere there were cars and boats flung about on the street like toys in my son's room.

"I went up to the top of the Verrazano Narrows lighthouse bridge to take a better look, and it was just…incredible. Broken timbers everywhere, cars and boats lying everywhere, and people were just wandering around, lost. There was one little old lady with a wheeled suitcase and a little fluffy dog under her arm, and Doc—one of my base's medics, went out to help her, he intercepted her on the street and took her to Staten Island University Hospital. When he came back he told us the hospital was letting the elderly, sick, and very young stay there and sleep on beds, but they were straining and there was nowhere for those who weren't ill or elderly or had infants to go. And then Doc told us the FEMA center was closed, that there was no one there, and we realized that with the damage this extensive it was very likely that people wouldn't have anywhere to go, nowhere to find food and shelter after the storm, and it was getting very chilly very quickly.

"And all I could think of was that we had extra blankets, MREs, and other necessary supplies, things these people needed, but we couldn't openly offer them since we were supposed to be classified. And then I remembered one of my soldiers telling me about an organization called Team Rubicon, composed of ex-military members, and they went out and helped people recover after disasters. It was the perfect cover story for us, and so I made the decision to go out and try to help those who'd been affected by the disaster. Since the FEMA center was closed (and it had flooded anyway) the only building we could find large enough to hold the refugees we expected would come was the school down the road from the FEMA center. It hadn't been affected by the floodwaters, so we got in, set up a check-in, and got our food prep techs set up in the cafeteria.

"Because there was no power, the frozen foods in the refrigerator would have spoiled too quickly, so the decision was made to cook everything we could. Which we did. Our medics set up a makeshift infirmary in several of the classrooms, and we were joined by New York City's Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Melinda Warner. And as refugees started to trickle in, those with usable skills could leave their families, their children, in the care of the community—we set up a communal playroom in the kindergarten and first grade classes—and lend their hands to a variety of other tasks; setting up generators, nursing the sick and injured, even setting up makeshift classes in the library so the older kids wouldn't get bored. And when the Staten Island Police Chief and those of his force that he could spare joined us, we had enough people to organize search parties, to go out and check residences of those that families and friends said they were concerned about, and were able to evacuate many of the bedridden sick, elderly and injured to the school where they could get warm, receive medical attention, and reunite with family members who had been worried about them but couldn't reach them.

"I fully realize that what we did could have blown our cover; we could potentially have been found out as a covert military facility. But we didn't. We were all careful not to use real names, to use codenames—which Team Rubicon members were apparently in the habit of doing—and not to address each other using any identifiable rank that could possibly be used to trace us. Dr. Warner knew—but then, one of her best friends is the mother of my son, and she is also former Air Force. She knew that there were some questions better left unasked, and while I'm certain she knew what we were, she spoke to no one, told no one. Neither did the Police Chief, whose brother was actually the head of the Team Rubicon chapter that took over after we withdrew. So we did maintain our confidentiality."

He winced at the slightly defensive note in his own voice, but it was the truth, after all. They hadn't broken their confidentiality agreements by telling someone who and what they were and where they were based; that others may have figured that out on their own was not his responsibility. And no one had told the press, or everyone would have known by now, not just the President and a few advisors. But it was useless to try pointing that out; he was pretty sure the President and the Secretary of Defense had already made their decisions, and no amount of arguing would change it.

"Thank you, Major General Abernathy. What you just said was pretty much what I surmised had happened, but I'm glad to hear it from you directly." President Whitmore straightened up in his chair and assumed a formal pose, and tone. "As I'm sure you understand, when multiple members of a specific unit are out of order, the most senior-ranking officer involved should bear the most responsibility. I therefore determine that if it had not been for your example, your subordinates would not have been involved in this incident and therefore whatever penalty I issue for this incident will fall upon you alone."

His words filled Clayton with both relief and foreboding. Relief that no one would be disciplined for this but him (even if it had been Dash's own idea to go out there, and once Clayton had officially handed over leadership of the base to him, Dash had been under no compunction to follow) but their actions had been motivated by the best of intentions, and although he would miss the military, his career, and his soldiers here at Joe base, he couldn't honestly find it in himself to regret any of the choices he'd made—or to wish that he hadn't made them. If given the choice of going back and being able to do things differently, he still wouldn't have chosen to do anything different than they already had.

But the President was continuing to speak, and Clayton squared his shoulders and focused on the President. "Based on what I've heard, Major General Abernathy, I find you guilty of breaking and entering the FEMA center, which is private government property. This would fall under Article 134 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and as your commanding officer I have decided to dispense justice for this breach in UCMJ conduct with a summary court martial. And as the convening authority, I hereby decide that you should be relieved of your duties for the space of one month, that you spend that month off-base in contemplation of your decision, and hope that you resolve to allow no further disorders to the good conduct of yourself and the personnel of your base."

It took long moments for that to sink in, and it took even more moments for Clayton to find his voice. A month's leave? Off-base? That was all? And…he was only guilty of breaking and entering the FEMA center? "Sir?" he finally managed.

However, if he was tongue-tied, others weren't. The Homeland Security advisor and the head of FEMA were outraged, and had taken advantage of Clayton's befuddlement to express their opinion of the President's decision. "Sir, he not only broke into the FEMA center, he also broke into a school! He stole everything in the FEMA center to assist his disaster relief efforts, and everything in the school, and he needs to be disciplined! That's theft!"

"And breaking and entering, and disobeying orders!"

But the President was sitting back in his chair, shaking his head. "We never specifically ordered Major General Abernathy not to go out and provide disaster relief to the people, and in fact, as his oath is to protect the US and uphold the Constitution, he upheld his oaths by serving the people of the US. The US is not land and borders, the US is the people. And he carried out his oaths. Now, as to the theft, I'd like to remind you that as the supplies in the FEMA center and the school were paid for by taxpayers, those goods and supplies rightfully belong to the people and Major General Abernathy simply gave the people the merchandise they had bought and paid for."

"But…but…the breaking in!"

"As the school was a 'public' school, and he is a member of the 'public', the building belongs to him as well. And unless I miss my guess, in a few more years his own son will be going to that school, and he'll definitely have the right to go there." This was said with a wink at Clayton, who found his jaw dropping again.

The Homeland Security head and the FEMA head fell silent, apparently so taken aback by the President's common-sense reasoning that they couldn't think of anything to say. President Whitmore simply folded his hands, looking slightly smug. "As we heard that you recently bought a house out on Staten Island, I'm sure you'll spend your suspension well-occupied in fixing said house and making it habitable for your son and his mother. Please inform your personnel that they will need to muddle along without their commander for a month. Now, I'm sure Lieutenant General Johnson would also like to have a few words with you, and I'm due for dinner with a visiting ambassador, so I'll leave you to it." He started to reach for the switch that would turn off his viewscreen, then paused. "Oh, and although I suspect that the majority of the words you have thus far heard on this subject have been negative, let me take a moment to extend the US government's gratitude to you for taking care of the people. Although we send you soldiers overseas to help people who we think need our help, we also tend to forget sometimes that those at home need help too, and while I can't approve of how you went about doing what you did, I can certainly approve of your quick assessment of the situation, the steps you took to help the people, and the motives and intents behind your chosen actions. Although I would recommend that should something like this ever happen again, you could simply tell the people that you're a detachment of soldiers from Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn, I am also taking steps to make sure a deception isn't going to be necessary. I am thinking of opening the Ft. Wadsworth location as a basic recruit training facility; I have had ample opportunity over the last couple of years to get to know you and your team, and I personally know that you and your personnel exemplify the best of what we look for in our soldiers, and if you could impart your wisdom, and your moral code, to green recruits under you, we would have fewer incidents of reprehensible behavior from our soldiers such as we have seen lately." Clayton nodded; he understood that.

"But all of that takes time, so let me take care of that. You go ahead and take care of your base and your family. Go well, Major General." And one side of the computer monitor went dark.

Johnson was smiling as Clayton turned to him. "Out of all the possible outcomes I was expecting from this conversation, this wasn't one of them," he finally managed.

"You have to remember that President Whitmore was a soldier too, once," Johnson leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, leaning side to side, working the kinks out of his back. "A fighter pilot. He knows what we go through, how we think and feel and how we're likely to react in given situations. His family, and command, is simply a lot bigger than ours. And I approve wholeheartedly of his decision, and as he is Commander-In-Chief of the US Armed Forces, his decision is final and can't be overridden. So enjoy your vacation, Major General Abernathy, and oh, if you would be so kind as to give me your address on Staten Island, I'll be able to send a present for your son's first birthday."


	14. Chapter 74: First Birthday

**Chapter 74: First Birthday**

"So glad you could make it!" was Shana's exuberant exclamation as Allie stepped in the front door of the Staten Island house—and then, as she looked past Allie, she laughed. "All of you!" Courtney was a couple of steps behind Allie…and behind her, Flint and Beach Head had apparently been drafted into carrying the bags of gifts meant for Auggie, turning one year old today—and for Shana and Terence's twins. After this birthday party they were all going to be going their separate ways; Charlie and Cam to the reservation in Western New York, Shana and Terrence to their cabin out in California, and the Joes back to base. Clayton had two weeks left on his month of 'leave' and then he would be heading back to Joe base too…but already there were bets on about how long it would be before he, too would take his pension and retire. Oh, not to his face, they wouldn't dare joke about something like that in front of him, but the thought was definitely there, as his little birds had told him through the grapevine of base gossip.

Not that he was all that unhappy with it, no. Although it was human nature to want to keep the status quo, to want to keep things the same, to resist change, sometimes that led to stagnation and you didn't even realize it until something forced a change.

For him, and for the rest of the Joes, that had been Clancy's fateful decision to get himself—and Clayton's Joes—involved in a conflict orchestrated by a brilliant, unethical Colombian druglord. In trying to protect an innocent woman only trying to do her job, the outside world had been thrust on the whole complement of Joes, brought it crashing into their admittedly very insular life underground at Joe base, and it wasn't until he had been kidnapped with Olivia that he realized just how much he'd missed going out and seeing action and doing something, anything. And then the enforced SERE course, meeting Cam and being compelled to bring her to his base just to save her life, and the resultant encroachment of the outside world—again—on his Joes in the form of Cam's experiences with immigration.

Then his soldiers' decision to go out into the jungle to find this group of children that had become important to one of them—Alex, despite the way she'd become one of them, now firmly actually was one of them and he saw her as just as much 'his' soldier, in the same way that Courtney, Allie and Shana were. So what she considered important became important to all of them, and that had led to Shana's deplorable, despicable capture, sale, imprisonment, torture, the desperate measures they'd all taken to get Shana back, and her and Cam's harrowing recovery. Although, he would regret losing Shana, having her leave his command and muster out; before all of these events he would have made that regret very plain in the form of protests and attempts to talk her out of leaving, after what had happened, after what he'd seen of her when she'd come back from Kennedy's island, he was just thankful that she was here, alive and aware, and able to make that decision. And in the end, he' decided that whatever he wanted wasn't important; what she wanted, what was best for her and Snake Eyes—Terence, he had to keep reminding himself; the habit was too ingrained to let go of easily—and also for their little ginger-haired twins.

Auggie was absolutely enthralled with these two new babies. Although, at one, he was too little to know what 'play gently' meant and Liv had to keep reminding him (and carefully separating him from the babies when they needed to sleep) he would crawl or toddle into their room when Liv had still been temporarily living in the apartment (her stay had been extended past the end of the hurricane when it was discovered that there had been minor flooding at their house, just enough to soak the carpets and dampen the walls. Clayton had insisted that she stay at the apartment while the carpets and padding were torn up and replaced, and she'd agreed happily—he rather got the impression that she was enjoying not only having her own baby to cuddle, but she was also loving being able to coddle the twins. _She's great Mom_, he'd thought with amusement as she expertly rewrapped Evan; though the twins were barely a month old, already their differences were apparent despite the fact that they looked almost identical—same ginger hair, slightly curly; same fair, slightly-freckled skin. But Evan was going to have his mother's temperament, that much was already evident; he was the one most loudly vocal in demanding his bottle, he fussed if he got too cold or too hot or wasn't wrapped the way he thought he should be wrapped, was impatient and demanding and not afraid to let everyone in earshot know how he was feeling.

Erin was going to be much like her father. Relatively quiet, uncomplaining, she was patient, didn't demand; she would fuss just enough to make it clear she wasn't happy and then just wait for the situation to be corrected. She cried only when she was uncomfortable—hungry or cold or hot. When someone new picked her up, she didn't complain; she'd spend some time contemplating the person holding her before deciding if she didn't want to be held, then—well, 'politely' was the only way Clayton could describe her plaintive whine, uttered once and then that was it. But although she was quiet, there was something about her that you simply couldn't ignore, and she didn't have to complain to get what she wanted. She just had that way about her. Like her father, who also didn't have to complain in order to get what he wanted.

Life in the O'Hara household was going to be very interesting. Clayton didn't envy Shana and Terence one bit.

Fortunately, they were going to be getting a break from their kids each summer; as had already been discussed, Shana was quite firm about broadening the twins' horizons (and their skill sets) by having them spend summers with Cam and Charlie in Western New York. Along with the four acres of Yu's land that surrounded the house Charlie's parents had built, the extra parcel of land given her per the settlement with Kennedy's firm gave her plenty of wild land for three kids (Evan, Erin, and Auggie) to ramble through. Already Clayton was looking forward to summers without Auggie, enjoying the idea of his son running around up here with the twins learning woodscraft, hunting, tracking, navigation, as well as other, less-tangible skills; Cam's perseverance, patience, dedication, devotion, work ethic, cheerfulness, and good nature had been an example to all of the Joes of how a person could rise above the circumstances that had shaped them and how one could be a stronger, better person even after something catastrophic had happened to you. _What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, indeed_, he thought wryly, and he had no doubt that she'd be an example for the children, too. _I wish she'd had the chance to become a mom. She'd have been a great Mom, too. Just like Liv._ It simply wasn't fair.

And as if the thought conjured up the person, here came Cam herself, her face alight with happiness, and he watched her approach with a smile. So much like the girl he'd met at Camp Mackall that first day, bubbling, cheerful, always with a smile for anyone, quick to forgive wrongs done her, doing her best to forget unpleasantness and focus on happiness. She'd been through so much, and yet remained essentially a good person, and it had never, and would never, cease to amaze him how she could still smile after all that had happened.

But she was positively glowing now as she almost literally bounced up to him. "Hi, Clayton!" and her smile was one of pure happiness, and he couldn't resist smiling back at her, happy to see her happy. "It's great seeing you again. You have to promise to email, and I'll reply, once Charlie and I are home."

"Absolutely. You still have my direct number, right?" Of course she did, the Joes wouldn't have known to come and get her and Shana otherwise.

"Memorized and committed to heart. And Liv gave me her number here at the house, and gave me her work number—even if she herself isn't at the precinct, someone will be and they'll know how to get in touch with her—and she with you. And It's all arranged—Auggie and Evan and Erin will be coming up for half of every summer so I can teach them woodscraft and the ways of our People—and Charlie can instruct them in Navajo ways."

"And you get to be a part-time Mom." He was teasing, and so was unprepared for her instant seriousness.

"I do have a son out there, Clayton. Although I may not be raising him, he's got good parents and a loving family, and he's living here in New York where there's always something to do. Charlie and I are planning to live a very simple, quiet life on our little bit of land, and while that will be a novelty for Auggie, Evan, and Erin for half the summer, I can see that it would get pretty boring for an active child, and bored children tend to get into trouble. No, it's absolutely better for Brian to be where he is." A pause, and then, so low he almost didn't hear her, she said, "I'm not sure I'd be a good Mom either."

"Don't say that. You'd be a great Mom. Look at everything you've been through, everything that's happened, and you're still a cheerful, optimistic, good person."

She looked thoughtful. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"I'm not so sure."

He sensed there was more, but he was puzzled by her words. "You don't think you're a good Mom, or a good person?"

"Neither."

"Auggie adores you. To all accounts, Shana and Terence's twins adore you. And…you care about other people, you're selfless and you'd do anything for your friends and the people you care about. That makes you a good person."

"I'm not that good. I killed my Aunt and Uncle, Clayton, did you forget that little detail? I killed them in cold blood—murdered them. I know what Alex told the court, but the simple fact is that I was not afraid for my life at the moment I set fire to the house and stood in the doorway of their room, preventing them from leaving; I stood there and listened to them beg; they said they were sorry, they promised they would let me go, that if I'd just let them live they would let me go and never look for me, never tell anyone I set the fire and ran. They begged for their lives, Clayton. But I never said anything, didn't listen to them. I watched my Aunt's nightgown catch fire, watched my Uncle's pants catch fire. I listened to them scream as they burned. I watched them roll to try and put the fire out. I watched them stop moving, and I never once tried to help them, let them go.

"I replay that image in my mind a lot, Clayton. A lot. And each time I do I examine my conscience. But there's nothing. No pity, no remorse, no guilt, no 'I shouldn't have done that'. I remember feeling…happy…when I saw them stop moving, when they finally died from the fire; just satisfied that they were gone and they could never hurt me again. I'm probably lucky that Alex never once asked me, during the evidentiary hearing on whether I'd be charged with my Aunt and Uncle's murder, whether I felt guilty for murdering them. Because I would have had to say no. I don't feel the tiniest bit guilty. I'm glad they're gone and have no remorse over killing them. I can't help the way I feel, but I also think that makes me somehow mentally deficient, because I can't feel pity for people I watched die in front of me, can't feel remorse for killing someone. I'd never been in a combat situation, never been deployed in my six years with the Army, and there was a part of me that was glad I hadn't because I wasn't sure how I'd avoid having everyone around me know I couldn't feel remorse over killing another person. And I think that makes me a bad person."

Clayton shook his head. "I don't see that as making you a bad person. I see that as making you human. They did some hideous things to you, and you'd hardly be human if you didn't harbor some resentment, anger, even hatred, for them. Admitting that you hate them for what they did to you, and that you're glad they're dead doesn't make you a bad person. Just makes you human."

"But they weren't always…there were a few years when I should have been grateful that they took me in, gave me a home—"

"You can't honestly call the roof they gave you a 'home'. There was no love, no affection, no concern. If they hadn't taken you, if the military hadn't found them, the military would have let you stay with, and be adopted by, Art and Annie Hammond—while you were in Miramar and we talked they said they would have done that if that was what it took to keep you out of the system. They figured the only reason you went to New York was so you could dance; they never, for one moment, thought there could ever be any real affection between yourself and the Parks. I didn't know them, Cam…but even if I had, knowing what I know about them, I wouldn't be able to find a single ounce of pity for them and what happened to them. As far as I'm concerned they got exactly what they deserved, and I feel no remorse or pity for their death. I wish only that I'd had a chance to meet them, to see them face to face and tell them exactly what I thought of them and what they did…what they allowed to have done…to a defenseless, vulnerable young child."

And he meant it. Although he would never have a chance to meet them, face-to-face, he'd quietly gone and looked up the fire in online versions of the local western New York newspapers, and he'd seen the photos of the burned out cabin as well as photos of the two people who had perished there. He'd spent a long time looking at the photos of the Parks, wondering how two such ordinary-looking people could have been capable of such extraordinary cruelty to a little girl. He hadn't felt pity, remorse, concern, for them; the thought of their last moments alive being filled with terror, fear, the certainty they would die, produced no feelings except vicious satisfaction that they got exactly what they gave, that they finally knew, in some small measure, what Cam had felt when they'd allowed the guy who made death films access to her. He could imagine all too well the helplessness, terror, despair, that Cam had felt, and so had no pity for those two people. _Karma's a bitch,_ he'd thought with grim satisfaction. _You got what you gave and I feel no pity whatsoever._

"The fact that you feel guilty for not feeling guilty indicates you're a good person," he said to Cam finally. "I've killed a lot of people over the years during my military service, and there were some, like rebel warlords, like brutal rogues who slaughtered children, who I gunned down and felt no remorse at all over. I never gave it a second thought and I never once thought I was supposed to feel even the tiniest bit guilty over their deaths. Never thought about them again. You know, of course, how we met Alex? Out in the Congolese jungle? Well, about a month ago we got word that there's been a riot in the African prison where Congolese Army Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda was being held; some of the prisoners being held there were people he'd hurt, relatives of people he'd killed.

"They had nothing to lose. They started a riot and Zimurinda was killed; particularly gruesomely, as one man did to him what Zimurinda had done to his wife and infant daughter; a sharpened instrument up into bodily orifices. I felt absolutely no pity for him…and neither did Alex, when I told her. Or anyone else." Ettienne's eyes had filled with a vicious delight; while his hand hadn't dealt the killing blow, knowing that justice had been meted out to the one who'd tortured the woman he loved was enough that he could finally feel some sort of satisfaction. And he'd seen the same looks on the faces of everyone who had been involved in the Congo mission; Allie had squeezed Dash's hand; Dash had looked deeply, profoundly relieved; Wild Bill, Cover Girl, Recondo—none of them had felt the slightest pity for the rogue warlord.

"None of us felt any pity over Kennedy's death." He carefully didn't mention the unspoken truth they all knew; who had done the killing. That was a secret they would all take to their graves. Kennedy had deserved to die. The death penalty would have been justice; that he'd been sentenced to life in prison was the law, and when justice and the law no longer stood on the same side of the line, Clayton wasn't inclined to favor the law too much. "And none of us felt any pity whatsoever when the people who were accused of molesting you started dying of venereal diseases. They deserved it, every last ounce of pain they got, they deserved. Liv even told me that some of the people they suspected hurt you but couldn't prove a case came down with the same virulent disease. None of us felt any remorse or pity either. So if not feeling anything at the death of the people who hurt you makes you a bad person, Cam, then we're all guilty."

She digested that for a moment, then said, "I guess I can see your point."

He turned to look at her, his serious demeanor capturing her attention. "Cam, what's done is done. It's over. Your Goddess has made sure you got justice for what you went through, and has also rewarded you for your perseverance, bravery, and willingness to do the right thing by giving you a husband, friends who love you and care about you, and a life well worth living. Go and live your life free of the shadows of your past, enjoy your husband and the simple, normal life you've always wanted and fully deserve. Let go of everything that's happened and don't let anything cloud your happiness with Charlie. You deserve it and have more than earned it."

The light that dawned on her face brought an answering smile to his own, and she leaned in and gave him a quick hug before she bounced off toward Charlie, standing next to Snake Eyes, with a lighter step. And in that moment he saw her truly shake off the last of the shadows, and fervently hoped that nothing, for the rest of her life, would bring those shadows back.


	15. Chapter 75: Epilogue

**Chapter 75: Epilogue**

Another day. Clayton sighed as he strolled into his office and surveyed the mountain of papers on it. It was sloppy again, a sign that he was happy and content with the way things were going; after all the fuss and turmoil of the last few years, it was nice to have things return to 'normal' again—or at least, what passed for normal at his base. Nothing was ever actually normal at Joe base, there was just 'hectic' and 'less hectic'.

But he couldn't help the smile that lit up his craggy features as he turned on his computer, opened his email, and saw an email from Shana waiting there. It had been a few weeks since she, Terence, Cam, and Charlie had left the New York City metropolitan area; Shana had announced her intent to take everyone home to visit her family "because Dad has to have a chance to get sloppy over the twins," and also because she said Cam deserved to get thanks from her family for delivering the twins during the hurricane. Clayton didn't think that Cam would be getting much by way of thanks from Shana's sister, but Shana's father, mother and brothers were going to express their appreciation. Of that he was certain.

He forced himself not to open that email first thing; there were a couple of emails that required his attention, being marked 'high importance.' Lieutenant General Johnson had been confirmed by the President in his post as the G.I. Joe project's new supervisor, no suitable replacement having been found for Clancy; Clayton wasn't protesting that move, and neither had Johnson. Johnson hadn't approved of the way that Clancy had left the major decisions up to Hawk, taken credit when things went right, then blamed it on Hawk's decisions when things went wrong (which, despite Clancy's efforts to discredit Clayton, hadn't happened often) and Clayton was looking at a couple of meetings in the near future with Johnson as they hammered out some concrete rules about where Hawk's responsibility would end and where Johnson's would kick in. "Clancy ran a pretty lax ship. I'm not tolerating that. Things are going to be different from now on," Johnson had promised, and Hawk had no doubt of that.

A couple of messages about possible missions; an insurgent group in French Algeria had taken hostage a group of traveling exchange students, of French, American, and Swedish nationality; the UN was asking for volunteer black ops troops from the governments of the kidnapped students to join the task force to hunt the insurgents down and bring the students back. Hawk filed that in mind as something to ask Allie; this was right up her alley (no pun intended), and she and Courtney had been feeling somewhat lost since Shana had left. This would be a great way to get the two of them off base and keep them busy enough until the novelty of Shana's absence wore off. Right now her presence, and Terence's, were keenly missed, and although Cam hadn't been with them for anywhere near that long, he still got an occasional, "How's Cam?" from several members of Joe base.

A message from Lieutenant General Johnson, this one about a new female recruit. _I got this woman you have to meet_… and it made him smile even as he closed it and marked it to be read later. Although Shana had left some very large shoes to fill, the events of the last few years had shown Clayton that there were more exceptional women in the world, and in the military, than just Shana; he'd simply never seen it before, or he'd never really looked. He was determined to correct that oversight now; Cam, Liv, and Alex had shown him that.

And finally, he got to Shana's email.

_Hey, Clayton!_ He could almost see her effervescent smile, hear the laughter in her voice as she bubbled happily. _We landed safely in Atlanta, all six of us. Dad met the twins; he's ecstatic, and they seem to love their grandfather. My mother, too, is thrilled, and my brothers are just tickled that they're uncles now. Siobhan doesn't seem to care much one way or another, but then, that's Siobhan. Sometimes I can't believe we have the same parents._

_Sean and Dad have taken it in turns to see that the caretakers' cabin at the edge of the Atlantic is fully restored and ready for us to use. They did a good job of it, put in exactly what I would have put in. Cam and Charlie have a room of their own, and Terence and I have a room, and there are two more rooms, ostensibly for when Evan and Erin get bigger and they need separate rooms when we come to visit my family in Atlanta. The master bath has been greatly expanded (Cam will never admit it, but I saw her eyes light up at the sight of the hot tub in the bathroom!) and the kitchen has been modernized and updated. There's a family room with a big-screen TV now, too, and it's big enough for all of us, Dad and my brothers included, to sit and watch TV. _

_The bed and breakfast is doing very well. The rent has been paid promptly every month, the guests all rave about it, and get this, Clayton, the caretaker even had a paranormal team come through to do an investigation. Sarah must have had a blast pulling pranks on them because there's a digital picture frame on the hall table by the guestbook with photos of the 'apparitions' they caught while they were here. The plantation's become one of the more popular tourist attractions in the area, and even people who don't want to stay the night will tour the property just to take pictures, hoping to catch something. Sarah must be having herself a marvelous time._

Clayton could well imagine a mischievous little girl ghost having fun pranking the bed-and-breakfast guests. In fact, it sounded like something Shana herself would have done if she'd been capable of it when she was younger. He had to fight the smile.

_The last time we were here Cam was still recovering from the events on Kennedy's island, and that tempered her enjoyment of the visit. This time, she's healed, the trials are all behind her, and she has nothing to do but enjoy herself, and that she's definitely doing. Dad was overjoyed that he finally has a dancing partner, and almost every night winds up with him standing her up for a quick dance. She loves Irish dancing, and she took to it so naturally that Dad asked her only half-jokingly if she wasn't sure she didn't have Irish in there somewhere._

_But Cam's past isn't completely behind her, and we were reminded of that, rather unpleasantly, by an incident in the grocery store our first night in Atlanta. We were picking up something to cook for dinner and were standing in the checkout line when this nutjob walked by. He saw Cam and he did a double-take, and then real loud, in the middle of the store, he yelled 'whore' at her. Before any of us could say anything else he launched into a diatribe about how he'd seen a video online with a lot of men using her, and he called her a loose woman and a whore for letting all those men have a turn at her and he told her she was going to go to hell unless she asked God for repentance._

_ My Dad was furious, Clayton, I've never seen him so angry, but before he could say anything, Charlie lunged at the guy and the next thing any of us knew, he was on the floor nursing a jaw that was probably close to being broken. I think Charlie would have gone after him again if Cam hadn't grabbed his arm._

_ Terence and Sean hauled the guy upright and Dad said to him loud enough that everyone who'd seen the fight could hear him, and he told the guy that Cam had been a victim of child rape, and that if_ _the guy saw the video, then he was guilty of looking at child porn. And at that point, two guys toward the back of the crowd came up, introduced themselves as off-duty police officers, and they offered to take the guy off our hands and place him somewhere where the details 'could be looked into', as they put it. Turns out Dad knew them from working with them on security for some government functions that Siobhan and her husband attended over the last year and they recognized him in the grocery store._

_ Cam was mad at Charlie for 'creating a scene in the store. He was equally upset with her for not sticking up for herself. He kept telling her none of what happened to her was her fault, she didn't want any of it to happen, and no one has the right to call her a whore. She told him to just ignore it, and it would settle down over time, and that was when Dad asked me if there was any legal way to get adult entertainment websites to take down any videos, photos and images of Cam, knowing she was underage when those videos and pictures were taken._

_ I could kick myself, Clayton. It's so obvious that I should have seen it already. Abbie can put out a notice in the adult entertainment industry that any images of Cam are child porn and threaten to bury them in charges if they don't take the images off, and the websites will do it, since charges of having child porn on their servers would get their site shut down faster than Charlie had that nutjob decked on the floor. As soon as we got home I called Abbie and we had a little chat, and she promised she'd get the ball rolling on that. Charlie and Cam made up (you know she can never stay mad at him, they're too much in love and she knows he was just trying to help her) and you know the making up part's always the best part of an argument!_

Clayton chuckled to himself as he closed the email. He could well imagine Charlie's fury at someone who called his wife derogatory names in public; he could also imagine Cam not protesting because somewhere in there deep down she still felt (as Shana said Charlie had told her) that the whole thing had been her fault. _Charlie's going to spend the rest of his life telling her none of this was her fault. Eventually she'll hear it so many times she'll believe it. I'll cross my fingers for that day._

The warm happiness that he felt persisted well into the next day, and a quick email from Shana the next day just reinforced it; Abbie had sent an email to Shana telling her she'd filed the appropriate paperwork with the FCC to have any images of Cam removed from national communications servers, and she'd even called Homeland Security, who had recently absorbed the National Communications Center and the National Cyber Security Office, and told them to be on the lookout for any images of Cam that hadn't been erased. _It won't do anything about images of her on private networks, private computers and servers, but if they ever run across any during the course of an investigation they can add child porn charges because it's been clearly proven that she was underage when they were taken._

And then, a surprise a few days later; an email from Terence. He wasn't usually one to write long chatty emails and letters, so when Clayton saw the size of the file he was certain it was a picture. He wasn't prepared for what he saw when he opened the email though. Shana, standing next to what looked like an absolutely enormous wolf.

_Shana probably won't tell you about this so I will,_ Terence wrote. _We got home to our cabin in the very early morning hours yesterday and when we got up around nine we went out to do our morning exercises. There was this incredibly huge wolf standing out by the treeline, and as soon as he saw us he ran straight for us. Shana didn't even have time to turn and run; he was really fast. And he knocked her over and started licking her face. It was Timber, the wolf cub we'd saved while on our honeymoon; the wildlife preserve had nursed him to a young adult and taught him how to hunt, then_ _released him back_ _into the wild. He found his way back to the cabin, probably remembered it, and we found signs where he'd been denning nearby. I think he was probably waiting for us to come back._

Clayton sat back and laughed, long and hard.

Shana's email, a few days later, was much more descriptive.

_I swear, Clayton, this was the last thing I expected. We walked out the front door and there was this huge wolf standing there. He's not a full adult yet but he just looks so huge…anyway, he headed straight for me as soon as he saw me, and I thought I was going to get attacked. Terence was frozen; Timber was just moving too fast, there was no way either of us was going to get to a weapon before the wolf got to me…and then he just started licking me all over, whining, and his tail was waving, just like a really really big dog._

_He recognized Terence too; went up to Terence and sat down, then rolled over to get his belly rubbed. And he settled right in, just like we were when we were on our honeymoon. Except he's too big to fit on the dog bed we bought him. He spent the first night sleeping on the rug next to the bed—on my side, and you have no idea how annoyed I was when I woke up the next morning and put my feet on the floor—and stepped on a big walking rug! He gave me a hurt look and I had to pet him to soothe his hurt feelings while Terence laughed his head off._

_I don't think Timber knew what to make of the twins when I introduced them—cautiously, Terence had his hand buried in the wolf's ruff when I went to pick up Erin. And I was all ready to slam the door of the bedroom if Timber showed any aggression to the babies. But he kind of sniffed her cautiously and backed away, and just watched for a while. He was sitting on the rug in the kitchen when I opened my shirt to feed Erin, and I swear I saw a lightbulb click on over that furry wolf head when Erin started to nurse. He just had this look, like he'd suddenly figured it out; the alpha female to his chosen pack had puppies. He sniffed Evan when I introduced them later, and then just sat down and watched us._

_There's no way I'll leave the babies alone with him—he's a wild animal, after all…but later that day when I put both of the twins down for naps and closed the door, and Terence and I went to air out the bedsheets and finish our unpacking and settling in, when we went back to get the twins up from their naps Timber was stretched out napping in front of their room door. And when we went to bed that night, he didn't sleep next to my bed, he slept in front of the twins' room door. The next day, some furniture we'd ordered—changing table for the twins' room, couple of dressers for baby clothes—came in, but when the furniture people got there and tried to carry the changing table into the kids' room, Timber stood in front of the door and growled at them and refused to let them in. Terence and I had to go in and pick up the twins before he would stand down._

Clayton could just imagine the looks on the furniture delivery peoples' faces when they saw this wolf standing in front of the door refusing to allow them in. Looking at Terence's picture, if that wolf stood on his hind legs his head would be about on level with Shana's; not even Clayton would dare risk those wolfish teeth. _If that wolf sticks around, Shana and Terence will never have to worry about bullies picking on the twins. Not with that kind of protector._

And at the end of the week, another email from Shana reinforced his impression. _Days have settled into a quiet sort of routine,_ Shana wrote. _We get up in the morning and Timber's lying on the hall floor in front of the twins' bedroom—we got a thick shag carpet so he'd be comfortable, and he seems to like it there. So we'll get up, check on the kids, go to the kitchen. I make coffee while Terence goes_ _for a_ _run—with Timber. I swear that darn wolf enjoys it. When Terence comes back I go for a run (rather shorter) and Timber goes with me, then when I get back we all have breakfast. I bought Timber some dog food, but he just nibbles; I don't think he likes it. After breakfast he whines at the door, so we open the door and let him out. I emailed Cam to ask her about that (well, she is Wolf tribe!) and she said that wolves have a natural instinct against fouling the den, so it makes sense that he's potty-trained._

_The third morning we were home Snake Eyes and I packed the twins in backpack carriers and went out with spraycans to mark the trees, with Timber following along. After that day, he started vanishing every morning—one morning Terence followed him and found out that Timber was 're-marking' every tree we'd marked (in his own wolfy way, if you know what I mean) and he was, in effect, patrolling the property. I don't know how he knows to do that, but he's behaving exactly as if we were his pack and he's a member. _

Clayton sat back and laughed. And laughed some more when he got an email from Terence a few days later with a picture showing Timber sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, a couple of dead rabbits lying on the floor in front of him, and Shana plainly having fits about the wolf bringing dead animals into her house. Timber had a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the camera, which Terence was plainly behind; that expression spoke of hurt and bewilderment. Timber had brought home meat for the pack after a successful hunt and didn't understand why his pack's alpha female was having hysterics.

Terence had simply written under the picture_, we had rabbit stew that night. I managed to get Shana to understand that if she didn't accept his 'gift' she'd hurt his feelings. I think when deer season starts this fall, we'll have plenty of meat on the table and in the freezer. Cam sent us instructions on how to tan the rabbit hide with the fur still on; if all goes well, the twins will have fur blankets on their beds for the winter._

Clayton laughed until he cried—then printed the picture to show Allie, Courtney, and of course Alex and Liv. He had a feeling that life in the O'Hara household was going to be very, very interesting.

**Author's note: And that's it. That's all for the fourth book in the series. We're not done yet; as you might have guessed from the general tenor of the last part of this book, the fifth book in the series is going to be about the kids. Auggie, Evan and Erin will be joined by a few other of the 'Second Generation' of Joes and as kids will, they'll be getting into and out of scrapes. Look for it! And if a story about the next generation isn't your thing, well, I am pleased that you've followed along so far and hope you enjoyed reading as much as I had writing it. It's not going to go up immediately—I'm still writing it—but keep an eye out for it in the future.**

** See you soon for 'Second Generation'!**


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